Knights of the Old Republic  Reformation
by Darth Furcifex
Summary: 40 years after the battle of Telos, the Lost Jedi have reformed their Order and trained a new generation of Jedi Knights. Now however, a greedy Hutt Crimelord, an insane Admiral and a mysterious plot will push these new Jedi to their limits... and beyond.
1. Chapter 1

STAR WARS

REFORMATION

It is a time of hope for the galaxy. 40 years have passed since the dark times of the Jedi Civil war, when warring factions of evil SITH almost brought the noble JEDI ORDER to complete extinction. Now, a new generation of JEDI led by the old order's surviving members struggle to regain their place on the galactic stage, train new padawans to continue their teachings and cleanse the still present taint of the DARK SIDE from the face of the galaxy.

Mistrust and prejudice still plague the JEDI ORDER as it presses to rekindle old alliances within the GALACTIC SENATE. With thousands of systems still furious for the horrors unleashed upon them by former JEDI KNIGHTS Revan and Malak, there are precious few species who welcome JEDI help with open arms.

In an effort to improve JEDI standing in the outer rim, GRAND MASTER MICAL VALLO has ordered JEDI KNIGHT MORDRED VESHNAR and his Padawan ARON VIMA to eradicate Slave operations in the Mirgoshir System. The JEDI's star ship has cornered one such slave freighter and the two powerful warriors prepare to engage in fierce space combat…

A battered space ship, rusty and creaking sped through space, its internal urgency completely swallowed up by the vastness of the cosmos. While creaking, the ship was a predator, on the prowl for an easy kill. Suddenly it opened fire, a volley of crimson lasers arcing out in front of it. A larger ship, fat and vulnerable, took the hits on its back, rocking and squealing like a Bantha slapped on the rump. The larger of the ships, a slaver, turned and fled from the rusty freighter, but it clearly lacked the older vessels manoeuvrability. The slave ship returned its own quarrels of energy back at the fighter but enough damage had already been done. An engine coughed into flame on the slavers right side and the dogfight was already over. Both ships glided to a stop and hung silently against the vast, empty backdrop of deep space. Limp, the slave ship was beaten, tilted to one side with painful apathy. The smaller freighter gradually approached the port side of the slaver, connecting with the ship and joining the two. Within, the Weequay Captain was commanding his troops with vitriolic fury, barking at his crew as they rushed to repel boarders.

"Move, move!" the Weequay screamed, his greasy ponytail twirling in time with his agitation. "Kill them, whoever they are! Move!" The slavers were a rag tag bunch of aliens primarily consisting of Rodian, Aqualish and Weequay – the typical putrid scum found in most rough bars in most rough star systems. Armed with blasters and sonic pistols, amongst the crew there was a sense of excitement at the coming battle as they rushed to the docking hatch of their beloved ship. Almost 30 gathered together in a concerted effort to, as their Captain commanded, "repel boarders" and they had every intention of blasting to cinders whoever dared try to seize the Scarlet Shyrak. The blast door to the docking hatch eventually began to vibrate and all of the gathered pirates drew in breath. The Captain himself, standing a head taller than the rest of his crew and dressed in loose mercenary armour drew a wicked vibrosword from its sheath at his side and thumbed its edge with a hint of a smile. "Whoever they are", he thought to himself "Captain Xarba will make them see the error of their ways… and prevent them from learning from them… ever".

After a few moments of vibration (though to the battle-ready slavers it felt like a life time) the blast door glowed red, wobbled and collapsed on its self rather anti-climactically, evidence of a charged sheet of plasmite being pressed against it and heating it up. Smoke billowed from the gaping hole.

"Unleash hell!" Captain Xarba screamed, and his bloodthirsty crew were all too happy to oblige. A withering volley of crimson laser bolts and pure white sonic spirals flew towards the whole, vanishing into the smoke and supposedly obliterating anything in its way. After several seconds of continuous fire, surely enough to destroy any assailant, the Captain screamed again.

"Ceasefire!" Silence reigned on the Scarlet Shyrak. Xarba stepped forward himself and levelled his curved vibrosword towards the still smoking entrance. He snarled with cruel pleasure at the thought that any survivors would soon be wishing they weren't. Suddenly, a voice rang out from the smoking egress, layered with persuasion yet not betraying the immense power behind it.

"Slavers! We are Jedi Knights! Lay down your weapons and surrender NOW!" Xarba felt a strange sensation pass over him, a curiously pleasant pressure on the brain as a very sensible part of his mind told him to do exactly as the voice said. Behind him, several blasters fell from suddenly limp hands as the rich cloying sensation worked upon weaker minds. Xarba felt his own sword begin to slip from his fist and didn't like it. He screamed and broke the reverie he and his crew had been kept under. Two or three of the slavers at the back of the group simply slid to their hands and knees and crept from the room but the majority snapped back into action, retrieving any dropped weapons from the floor. Xarba himself took a running jump and plunged into the smoking hole in his ship, a ferocious war cry on his lips. He briefly disappeared from view and the rest of the crew heard a strange sound, as if a speeder had driven past at great speed, humming as it did so, taking only the briefest of moments to come and go. A large round object with tendrils flying around it powered through the opening, bounced once, twice on the floor and rolled to a stop at the slaver mobs feet. It was Xarba's head. Once again, silence reigned on the Scarlet Shyrak.

"I'll ask again" the hypnotic voice rang out, "put your weapons down and surrender!" The hesitant crew looked at each other for guidance, but no leader made himself apparent. The clanging of weapons falling to the ground filled the star ship, and one bold Twilek spoke up in his native, guttural Huttese dialect.

"Okay, we give up!" he shouted. From the smoke two beams of light appeared, one green, one blue. The green beam of light move towards the stunned crew, until at last, from the shadows a tall figure stepped. Garbed in robes of dark brown the unknown figure marched towards the crew, a pair of bright red eyes gleaming from the depths of a cavernous hood.

"On your knees" the voice rang out yet again, now obviously originating from the hooded figure. One again the crew obeyed and the thirty slavers dropped to their knees, slaves to the hypnotic voice.

"Lie down" the robed figure commanded, but this time softer, with a gentle whisper in it. The now hapless crew were powerless to defy the voice at all and simultaneously rested their heads on the metal grating of the ship.

"Sleep" the figure said, almost matter-of-factly. And the crew did fall asleep, the worry of the last few minutes melting from their faces and replaced with the simple serenity of unconsciousness.

The dark figure brought a hand – a stunning dark blue colour – up to his hood and pulled it down. Smiling, Knight Veshnar turned back to the smoking access port and called to his Padawan.

"Well, that went well!"

Chapter 1

The Chiss Jedi Knight stood on the bridge of the Scarlet Shyrak, staring into the vast depths of space while changing the slaving vessels course. In the bowls of the ship he could sense his Padawan opening every cell he could find, releasing the ranks of filth encrusted Twileks, Rodians, and the occasional Wookiee, enlisting their help in moving the slavers into their own cells. Veshnar kept a careful mind's eye on the mood of the ex-slaves – he didn't want any defenceless slavers getting killed by vengeful slaves… even if he could understand it, a Jedi would never condone it. Veshnar was tall and sported the devilish red eyes of all his species. Those who could look past his bizarre and somewhat frightening outward appearance (the blue skinned Chiss species were almost totally unknown to the galaxy at large) would find a man of strict moral principles and unparalleled integrity. He was considered a great success by his masters and had proven time and time again to be the Jedi to get the job done, fairly, quickly and always following the tenants of the Jedi code. His young Padawan, Vima the Zabrak was not his first student – he had turned down his opportunity for Master hood when Charissa passed her Jedi trials to gain a better understanding of the force. Now, with young Vima progressing nicely, Veshnar entertained the idea of finally receiving his Master title and even, force willing, sitting on the council. With a shake of his short black hair, Veshnar brushed off this reverie – such pride could lead to the dark side. Should he remain a Knight all his life then that was what he would gratefully accept. But Vima was only a few years away from the Jedi trials himself…

"Enough" Veshnar said aloud, shamed at his own dwelling on the future. That was not his responsibility, or his concern.

"What's enough Master?" Aron Vima enquired, walking onto the bridge with surprising stealth.

"Nothing you need to worry about Padawan. Are the slaver's secure?"

"Locked up tight Master."

"And are they safe from the potentially vengeful slaves?"

"Yes Master. The benefit of force cells is that they keep occupants in and everybody else out. As an extra precaution I even changed the security code, so they can't override the cell block security system."

"Well done young Padawan" Veshnar said kindly, clapping his erstwhile student on the back. He had trained Vima for the last 7 years, and knew him inside out. Originally an orphan given to the Jedi as little more than a toddler, his nationality as an Iridonian was a guess at best. Over their time together Veshnar had taught the boy much – about the force, combat with a lightsabre, about life itself. He knew his Padawan's abilities and capabilities. His weaknesses and his failings. They shared a force bond, stemming from Veshnar's intimate knowledge of his apprentice, but they were not as close as some Masters and their Padawans. Veshnar had maintained distance between himself and Vima, not as an intentional effort to appear cold but to limit emotional attachment – Veshnar's own beliefs about the force suggested that such a close bond, like that of brothers which could easily form between the two , would be a weakness too easily exploited by those willing to do such things, not to mention a distraction from reaching understanding of the higher mysteries of the force, available only to the most focused and solitary of Masters. Vima himself was not the most gifted student of the force, Veshnar knew this all too well and nor could he be relied on with a lightsabre in a proper duel but the boy had such enthusiasm to learn, particularly about languages and cultures, Veshnar could imagine him becoming one of the great scholars of the age, just like Master Vodnick.

"What next Master?" the young Zabrak asked, resting in the co-pilots chair.

"We will drop the slavers on Caston and the slaves wherever they want. First I'll report our success to the council - they may have another mission for us or we will return to Pikar." The Padawan nodded and settled down in his seat, preparing for a long and boring journey to Caston, the nearest civilised Republic world.

The hologram of Veshnar flickered on in the middle of a large, spacious room. Coloured in light blues and greys, the hall was bright, with skylights covering its roof and chairs arrayed around it's edges, mirroring the perfectly spherical walls. This was the council room of the Jedi academy on Pikar, temporary home of the Jedi order. On all but one of the nine chairs around the room sat the council, wisest and most powerful of all the Jedi, waiting patiently for Veshnar to report on his mission. The hologram of the Chiss Jedi Knight sprang from a holoplayer incorporated into the top of a well carved, squat black stone – the heart stone of this academy – positioned in the exact centre of the room.

"Venerated Masters" he began full of pomp and bluster, as was his way "Padawan Vima and I have seized the last of the Red Moon slaving ships and killed the last of the overseers – Captain Xarba is dead".

"Very good young Jedi" began Grandmaster Vallo, leader of all the Jedi. "The presence of slavers in the Mirgoshir system has been a disgrace – you've improved Jedi standing in the eyes of its residents I'm sure. We, the council, are very grateful." Next it was Master Habat who spoke, venerable Ithorian Master of biology and scientific study, his sonorous dialect difficult for Veshnar to decipher through the tenuous connection.

"With the slavers gone, legal trade will boom once again and Caston will slip further from the Hutt's grasp. We are indeed very pleased with your efforts."

"You honour me Masters", Veshnar bowed as best he could to the Masters that surrounded him in miniature, "do you have another assignment for us?" There was some nonverbal communication between the collection of Masters – telepathy between friends being one of the well-known perks of being a Jedi.

"Yes Veshnar, there is" piped up Gyr Prisht, legendary linguistics master of the Jedi, located to Veshnar's right, "as you know, Caston is a very important settlement for the order and the Republic as a whole. Its integrity must not be tarnished." The strange, diminutive birdlike Jedi master fidgeted in agitation at the very thought.

"6 standard hours ago one of Caston's elected civilian leaders was found murdered. His death has quickly evoked outrage and fury from the planet's non-military population – it's imperative that you and your Padawan return to Caston as soon as possible and restore what order you can, and more importantly, find out who is responsible and bring them to justice". The assembled Masters nodded in agreement. Veshnar was more than a little taken aback. This was one of the most important assignments he had ever been given – he knew all too well the importance of Caston and its stability.

"I hasten to obey Master's but…" Veshnar turned now and addressed Grandmaster Vallo directly, "surely Master Osti would be more suitable for this mission? It's scale is… a little beyond me perhaps, and he is stationed on Caston himself." There was hesitation between the assembled council. Veshnar quickly sensed their unease. Master Vallo spoke once again.

"Yes Veshnar, Osti was our first choice for this mission but… we have been struggling to contact him for the last 3 hours and, well, we needed somebody to act now. Please make you way to Caston with all haste". This apparently concluded the meeting.

"As you command Masters," Veshnar bowed deeply once again to the Council and deactivated his hologram.

"What a boring sentient" muttered Master Rand, "who taught him all that nonsense? The bowing and the ridiculous way he pronounces everything? We were supposed to get rid of that kind of Jedi!" "He was my student Atton," said Master Bao-dur , legendary tech wizard of the Jedi, "and I don't appreciate criticisms of respectful and competent Jedi behind their backs."

"Well I must apologise Master Bao-dur, why I would ask who would train such a Jedi when you were clearly in front of me eludes me now" retorted Master Rand, deliberately speaking convolutedly to mock his old friend.

"That position does you no credit Atton, and I'd have thought four decades of responsibility would have altered your attitude…"

"My attitude? What about your attitude? When did you take up our ideals about a better Jedi order? We were supposed to revolutionise attitudes, not become the same prudes who caused the civil war…"

"Enough" commanded Grandmaster Vallo. There was silence between the two bickering masters. "Now I want to make this very clear – I will not tolerate any attempt to put blame on people for the war. I'm ashamed of both of you. I thought we were passed this, there's no point blaming others for the mistakes of the past." There was a long pregnant pause. Out of the eight Masters assembled, only five were founding members of the revitalised order half a lifetime ago. Grand Master Vallo was the most impressive Jedi at the assembly due in no small part to his beard. An enormous mane of shaggy, pure white hair ringed his face, matted cream locks at the top and a corkscrewing, endless beard of snow completing the circle at the bottom. He walked barefoot always through the halls of this academy and the only thing he carried was a plain, long, silver hilted lightsabre. To Vallo's left sat Bao-dur, the elderly Iridonian Jedi who once designed the catastrophic super weapon known as the Mass Shadow Generator of Malachor V fame. To the left of the Iridonian sat Visas Marr, the blind Miraluku Jedi who once counted herself amongst the Sith… and served one of their greatest Lords. Next to Marr was the oldest of the assembled Masters, Botanist and peaceful meditator Chodo Habat. Habat was an Ithorian, and while his mottled grey skin sagged and his legs barely held him, his eyes still gleamed brightly with intelligence, wit and power. No one resided in the seat next to Habat: it had been left empty out of respect for a fallen comrade and would remain so until a Jedi Master of suitable experience and wisdom became available for promotion. After this seat came Gyr Prisht, her own seat making her already small figure look smaller. Vodnick was next to Prisht, the youngest of the council members yet he had such immense knowledge from his love of literature he was far from the least of them. Next was, of course Master Ordo, legendary Battle master of the Order. Her twin purple lightsabres were ever ready to cut down those who would threaten the weak and helpless. Mira Ordo was one of the most famous council members and considered by many to also be the best duellist. Last but not least was Master Rand, his own dark cotton and leather robes held closer to his body than his fellow council member's clothes, in reflection of his own views on their practicality. Rand was often the most difficult of the Masters yet knew the dark side better than any of them – even the damaged Marr. Rand was renowned as the most cunning of the council members and privately amongst the students as the most fun. Rand had had his issues with most members of the council, yet remained a very important part of the order and sat at Vallo's right hand side, completing the circle.

"We must raise ourselves above this bickering friends," Vallo implored his fellow Masters after a pause, "we must present a united front to the galaxy at large. I foresee troubled times ahead." Master Rand looked at Vallo sceptically.

"That's all well and good Mical, but you didn't foresee Brianna's troubled times ahead now did you?" This was the major point of tension in the council room. Less than six standard months ago Master Brianna Kae, one of the "Lost Jedi" and a founding member of the reformation of the order was killed in a space shuttle crash. It was her seat which was left empty amongst the others, and clearly her death weighed more heavily on some Council members than others. Kae was on a mission to Tathir – a moon well known to be a breeding ground for Hutt-backed smugglers. However, before she even entered Tathir's system her ship, a regular cargo vessel with over a hundred ordinary passengers, inexplicably crashed into the Khyber asteroid belt. The crash appeared accidental but little can be hidden from Masters of the force – the council had concluded from intense meditation that Kae had in fact been murdered, though they were unsure who was responsible or why it had happened. The very idea that someone would sabotage an entire ship, killing every passenger on board, just to end the life of a single person was callousness beyond even the cruelty of the Hutts. Kae's death was felt most deeply by Master Rand and Master Vodnik – Rand because it was originally his mission to investigate Tathir before a sudden illness, Stagen Flu, forced Kae to step in while Rand recovered. Vodnik however was a personal friend of Kae's, one of her few friends since the half Echani was famously difficult to get on with. Vodnik was her very first student, joining the newly reformed Jedi at the age of twelve and knew her better than anyone else. These two Masters had demanded that a full and invasive investigation take place, whilst others, Grandmaster Vallo included, felt that the news that somebody was killing Jedi – council members no less – could do great harm to their credibility.

"Now, onto other matters," said Vallo brusquely, determined to plough through this tension without actually addressing it – the age old attitude of the eternal optimist. "We must ensure that Caston's political climate is stabilised, especially now of all times. Also, if we do not get contact with Master Osti within the next few hours I move to send a Knight and Padawan team after him to ensure his safety."

"No," said Master Rand, "he was my student, my charge years ago – I still feel accountable for him in some respects. I'll go after him personally."

"Are you not still ill Atton? Has your flu improved?" enquired Visas Marr.

"I'm fine. And sick of everybody worrying about me. I'm touched, but I need my space.

"Don't talk Bantha puduu Atton, we can all see how pale you are!" interjected Mira Ordo, "If we don't hear from Osti then I will go after him – not that he's likely to have got himself into any real trouble anyway, we all know how gifted the boy is."

"True enough. And it's also true that Atton is not at his best. I agree with Mira's plan" said Bao-dur, the rest of the council murmuring in agreement with him.

"It's settled then. Mira will track down Osti if we don't hear from him by tomorrow morning" announced Vallo, "now, on to timetabling for the coming year". Timetabling the Padawans lessons was one of the most time consuming and boring tasks the council members were responsible for – Vallo's announcement was not greeted with much approval, though only Master Atton Rand was rude enough to actually groan.

Vima leaned in towards him expectantly as Veshnar exited the holo room on the freighter.

"Do we have another mission Master?" Vima asked, excitement etched on to his young face.

"Yes young Padawan, we do. An important one. The Council have personally asked us to investigate a murder on Caston. It's a mission of utmost importance." There was a pause as Vima digested this.

"Why us?" Veshnar sighed at his padawans candour.

"We have to go and sort this out because currently Osti is not available to the council and we are the next closest Jedi to Caston available. I trust I won't hear you questioning the council again?"

"I wasn't actually…" Vima saw the look in his masters eyes and simply said "yes Master". The ship sped on through space, Master and apprentice sitting in awkward silence on the bridge. Vima often felt disgruntled towards his Master in times like these (and they were not rare) because despite his question being valid it struck at the heart of one of Veshnar's worries. In this case he worried where Osti was and therefore Vima himself had to take the brunt of his annoyance. Not for the first time Vima wondered if Veshnar was the right master for him and found himself yearning for someone who was less cold, less stern, less… like a Jedi. The Scarlet Shyrak sped on, making excellent progress to Caston, the Jedi's own ship, the Winged Katarn, following closely behind on auto pilot.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

After 40 minutes of hyperspace travel the Scarlet Shyrak and behind on auto pilot Veshnar's own ship the Winged Katarn dropped into orbit around Caston. Caston was, until 25 years ago, a large but unimportant settler world, its barren ecosystem and tough climate making life far north and south of its equator difficult. Since it was largely arid, Caston had previously had roughly 20000 inhabitants - Twileks and Devaronians who made a good living trading with the Republic and the Hutts. But it was this trait which had made Caston such a point of interest for the Republic – Caston and its small system. The reason it's Devaronian and Twilek inhabitants did so well from trade in this isolated province is that it lay strategically between Republic and Hutt space, an area which had transformed from a provincial backwater into a full blown military station necessary to check the tide of Hutt imperialism. Fifty years ago the Hutt's were a ragged group of crime lords content to make their illegal piles and topple one anther sporadically. No longer. The shock of the Mandalorian wars, Jedi Civil war and the aftermath of the Jedi purge had left the Republic on the brink of collapse. Countless systems had been devastated by first the Mandalorians goading attacks, then the betrayal of Revan and Malak's fleet had knocked galactic confidence in the Republic almost irreparably. By the end of the Second battle of Telos the Republic was battered, beaten, internally fragmenting and worst of all, stone broke.

So in this shell shocked post war galaxy, who would have the strength to seize advantage of the weakened Republic? The Mandalorians were shattered, never to return to their full strength, Revan's and later Malak's forces were completely wiped out and the remaining Sith Lords had been hunted down and destroyed by the Jedi exile. No, it was not a government or army, Sith, Jedi or even Mandalorian who benefitted from the chaos. It was the Hutts. The Hutts alone had been left largely untouched by the war – Mandalorians hired mercenaries from the Hutts when their Crusader numbers wore thin in the face of Revan's onslaught, the Republic paid for large amounts of Intel from the Hutts about the Mandalorians, and even Revan and Malak gave them a wide berth, deeming them insignificant compared with the threat of the Republic. And so, with a booming economy where the Republic's was bankrupt, with an army of mercenaries where the Republic forces were all but destroyed, with suddenly more political clout than the whole senate, the Hutts made their move.

Of course there was no unified Hutt government controlling their expansion, the key figures on Nal Hutta simply did what they had always done albeit on a larger scale. They offered loans to entire governments rather than individuals or businesses. They offered protection from Pirates, Slavers and surviving Mandalorians to the systems who felt utterly abandoned by the weakened Republic. They charged excesses and fines, sunk entire planet's economies, assassinated those who would oppose them and of course increased interest rates on everything to ridiculous proportions. Very little of this was considered legal by the Republic – the borrowing and lending had quickly spread to a vast number of Republic worlds as well – but there was nothing the Republic could do but issue cease and desist orders – which the Hutts naturally ignored. In this new era of rebuilding and recovery the Hutts were desperate to capitalise on every conceivable opportunity - and there was nothing the Republic could do to stop them. Things came to a head thirty years ago when the Hutts went further than they ever had before – a leading Hutt crime lord known as Vogga, feeling pressure from two of his rivals (who incidentally were his sisters) signed an astonishing pact with the government of Fondor, a system renowned for its ship building and located in the colonies, dangerously close to the core worlds themselves. Since Fondor had begun manufacturing in the Mandalorian wars, the Republic felt that trade agreement or not, they should have best access to Fondorian facilities. Vogga the Hutt disagreed and began commissioning ships to form his own fleet. The Republic saw this as an act of aggression and formed up an assault fleet, reformed and ready to destroy the wicked Hutt's plans for galactic domination. Unfortunately, the Republic were not fighting the blunt Mandalorians or vicious Sith. They faced the Hutts, a cowardly and spineless race (literally as well as figuratively) who would break your legs for a credit or two but avoid an actual war if it meant they had to grovel themselves. Vogga, representing the Hutts as a whole (without their knowledge or consent of course) drew up another pact, one addressing the whole of the Republic. If the Republic allowed the Hutts to work their magic on the mid rim markets without interfering, then the Hutts would give a massive loan to the Republic with fixed, reasonable interest and leave Fondor, all other Republic military installations and the core worlds alone. Despite the treaty essentially leaving all but the Core worlds out to dry in the face of Hutt business machinations, the Senate agreed and the treaty of Fondor was signed. Peace, more or less, endured for several decades but Hutt space effectively trebled in size. On paper the Republic was still in control of the Mid Rim but it was the Hutts who paid for everything and were paid by everybody.

Caston was taken over by the Republic military two and a half decades ago with billions of credits invested to ensure that the Hutts could only view it as a military station, and therefore, by the treaty, had no control of it, despite how close to Nal Hutta it was. With a garrison of 40,000 troops and 2000 ships in orbit or under construction, Caston was currently viewed as an undisguised threat by the Republic and a deliberate attempt to regain control of much of the Mid Rim economy. Reactions were mixed to say the least amongst the Hutts…

"How dare they!" roared Vogga the Hutt in apoplectic fury. Well, he tried to appear apoplectic, but any form of movement or expression becomes challenging when you weigh a tonne and a half.

"The Republic wants me dead! Me! I thought I'd grown passed petty death threats." The massive slug was ranting to his Major Domo Mossa, an elderly orange Twilek used to dealing with Hutts and their infamous tempers.

"Sir, the Republic is merely stretching their muscles to remind us that they are still important. We hardly need to fly off the handle every time they reposition their fleet in our direction. It's what they want."

"If I were a less patient being Mossa, I'd gather every mercenary under my control and blast Caston to dust. Then we'll see how quick the Republic is to threaten me!"

"With all due respect Sir I can't help but think that destroying an entire planet is borderline impossible. And you shouldn't stress yourself so much. That's a major cause of Hutt death – it's a killer." (Actually, the number one cause of Hutt deaths over the age of 300 was assassination. Shockingly, very few Hutts died from stress when a Hutt classes watching a scantily clad dancing girl as "strenuous") "Besides sir, things have never been better for you. Once again, I'd just like to say, the palace looks wonderful."

"Stop grovelling Mossa. I'm not increasing your pay" (Clearly the finer points of slavery still weren't clear to Vogga) "Tell me some good news to brighten my morning." The Hutt adjusted on his podium which doubled as a very, very wide bed. The sleeping blue Twilek girl attached to him by a chain around her neck shifted in her sleep, cuddling closer to Vogga's tail. He purred to himself.

"Yes Sir," Mossa began, checking the datapad he always carried around with him, "we've requisitioned at great expense a Miraluku dancer for tonight's party. Very tasteful and very exciting if I do say so myself. The Miraluka are blind but this gives them an incredible gift for spatial awareness and incredible, ahem, grace." Mossa looked up and was pleased to see Vogga smiling. He continued; "we also have a large shipment of the Trandoshan slaves coming in for combat training. Vicious specimens they are – they'll make fine bodyguards… once they've had the right training. Oh, and Admiral Nova is expecting you to make contact – as is your Sister." Vogga groaned at the thought.

"I cannot stand Nova, you know that! I asked for good new!" Mossa tactfully stepped away from the half-hearted slap aimed at him. Some Major Domos were happy to take such abuse but wily old Mossa avoided it whenever possible.

"A thousand apologies great one. I was merely passing on a message. He did seem relatively urgent on the Holovid though sir. Perhaps it should be a priority?" Nova was, Mossa knew all too well, instrumental to Vogga's plans. The Hutt maybe lazy, cowardly and void of any charm whatsoever but he knew how to plot. The vast Hutt sighed deeply.

"Fine, I'll speak to him now if necessary. Mossa, bring up a Holovid." Mossa performed a graceful yet curt bow and walked over to a large table in the midst of the quiet, darkened space. Some Hutt's surrounded themselves with yes men and courtiers, sycophants and bounty hunters but not Vogga. He required only a young Twilek or two to keep him company and of course his two monstrous Kath hounds Rupture and Fury at his side. Fury, on Vogga's right growled at Mossa softly, despite apparently being asleep. Mossa flipped a switch on the device and Vogga's holographic image was broadcast across the galaxy. After a few moments, Vogga was treated to a hologram of his own. A stern face, a chin cut like rock, dark eyes swelling with fury. This was Admiral Nova.

"You have kept me waiting Vogga. I'm not one of your bounty hunter scum to be summoned and dismissed at your leisure." The Cerean commander stared at Vogga with the eyes of a predator. "Tell me, why you still haven't lived up to your end of our little bargain." Vogga twitched at the impertinence of Nova's tone – military types always got on his nerves.

"I have already paid you and your men everything I promised. If you're not happy with your payment then I'm afraid we will need to renegotiate a contra…"

"To hell with your contracts worm!" Nova interrupted furiously. "I don't care how many credits you shell out – I should be Grand Admiral by now. Much to my surprise however, Quasar is healthier than ever – the exact opposite of effectively assassinated, wouldn't you agree?" Vogga's eyes narrowed. His agreement with Nova was a dangerous one – but for both parties. Grand Admiral Quasar was a difficult man to kill – but then again, you don't become fleet commander of half the Republic military by living fast and loose.

"Quasar will be taken care of Admiral Nova, but if either of us should be upholding agreements it's you. I asked you to siphon troops off Caston – which hasn't happened. I asked you to return Milliov to Hutt control – you haven't. I asked for several of my mercenaries to be released from Republic custody –they are still not free." Nova listened to this impassively as his own side of the bargain was read off. Then he spoke again, voice tinged with menace.

"When I am Grand Admiral I will do as you ask. Until then I do not yield to a single one of your petty demands Hutt. I am an Admiral in the Republic fleet and you are nothing more than a common thug with delusions of grandeur. Nova out." The Hologram went dead.

"How dare he?" roared Vogga the Hutt in apoplectic fury.

Nova turned away from his own Holovid projector and stood from his chair. He looked down and straightened his Red and Gold Admiralty uniform and left the private conference room. He paced back through his ship, making for the bridge. As he walked through the bridge doors a soldier to his left saluted and said "Admiral on deck". The bridge was filled with people who were until now apparently relaxed. As soon as Nova entered every man and woman stepped to attention.

"At ease" Nova said, marching over to his chair at the central computer. Nova sat at the helm of his own personal ship, the _Valiant_, a Hammerhead B cruiser. The second Hammer head model was a re issue of the standard Capital ship used by the Republic in the Mandalorian and later Jedi Civil wars. The Hammerhead B was of similar shape to its predecessor and wielded similar firepower but was almost half as large again and boasted a new and highly advanced shielding device capable of twice the protection of older models. The _Valiant _herself however was equipped with additional turbo cannons to the sides and rear of the vessel as well as a prototype plasma cannon mounted on its back for an advantage in ship to ship combat. She was a dangerous vessel and Nova was proud to pilot her. Nova himself was an equally impressive individual as his ship was an impressive dreadnought. He was a typical Cerean male, his head stretching upwards towards the heavens, allowing him to tower over most members of his crew, a specialised Zabrak vibroblade at his left side and a heavy Mandalorian blaster at his right. To the galaxy at large he was a multi-decorated, honoured and revered soldier and commander, serving as a First Lieutenant in the Mandalorian wars, Captain in the Jedi Civil War and rightfully made an Admiral after years of loyal service to the Republic. However, despite such a distinguished war record, connections in the senate and galaxy wide respect, he had been passed over for promotion to Grand Admiralty on numerous occasions. But it was not this which made Setlot Nova ally himself with the Hutts. In fact, known only to him and one other, Admiral Nova was completely insane. For now he sat on the bridge of the _Valiant_, fingers gripping the arms of his chair hard and dreamed of a day when bloody vengeance would be his.

"Thank you, thank you so much" a dejected and withering Sleheyron male shook Veshnar's hand again and again, "I'm free – I can't believe it, I'm free".

"It is a Jedi's duty to protect those in need. It was an honour to help you sir." Veshnar tactfully replied, a standard, humble Jedi response to great praise which avoided the possibility of messy goodbyes or further grovelling: Jedi should not and do not require praise. The slaves had disembarked and were awaiting transport – as part of their compensation the Republic offered a one-time trip to anywhere in Republic space and it was clear many of the slaves were relishing the thought. A far less ecstatic gathering was taking place on the far side of the dock, overseen by Aron Vima - the former crew of the Scarlet Shyrak were being handed over to the Caston Security Force. Some still suffering from Veshnar's mind trickery, the others dejected at the thought of another span of sporadic prison sentences, they were hardly a threatening bunch anymore. Of course they knew how the next few years of their life would pan out - getting hopped around prison colonies until eventually their information was lost and they were dumped in some provincial backwater and back to slaving and smuggling as soon as they found someone to pay them. A few would probably get their old jobs back. While this was the great tragedy of the Republic prison system, Vima could see the funny side – inevitably they would get their just desserts and then go right back to their life of crime. Once the last of the slavers were taken into CSF custody Vima shook hands with the Lieutenant in charge and went to find his master.

"Vima! Boy, over here" Veshnar called out to him. Vima walked over to his Master.

"Yes Master?"

"I want you to find us accommodation in the civilian quarter. The garrison has offered to find us a room but I thought a slightly lower key arrangement would be appropriate."

"Get a room. Got it. What about you Master?"

"I will ascertain a preliminary analysis of the murder. Once we have rooms to stay in we can begin sleuthing in full. Off you go." Vima nodded to his Master and set off in the direction of the residential district. This was the Capital city of Caston, Dengkow, a place where the strong Republic military force uneasily coexisted with the laid back Twilek and Devaronian civilian population. The streets were dusty, the once pale buildings sprayed dark with grime. On Caston's equator, the only area of the planet hospitable enough to support life, it was always either torrentially raining or baking hot: today was the latter. The streets of Caston were buzzing with people, like any other city on any other planet but the crowds were often made up of soldiers, on or off duty and the recent murder of the elected politician had only increased tensions between civilian and invasive military residents. Aron continued down a small grimy path to the side of a large, unmarked building, probably a gambling den. Anyone who might ask how criminal enterprises like a gambling den could exist in a city where the military were so pervasive is sorely overestimating the average soldier's ability to resist temptation. Vima moved down the narrow street and finally arrived at a battered copper coloured door, a sign on the front indicating in Huttese that rooms were for rent. The place looked about as low key as possible. Vima knocked softly.

"Yes?" a muffled, gruff voice erupted from within, speaking in Huttese.

"I'm here about a room. How much for a couple of weeks, two people?" Vima replied. He could speak Huttese perfectly – Jedi are after all diplomats first and warriors second.

"70 credits for two weeks. 15 credit deposit. You don't like it you can get lost."

"That's fine. No disturbances though, okay? We don't want any cleaners coming in." At this the voice snorted.

"Cleaners? We haven't got any cleaners. You want cleaners, try a hotel at the docks."

"It's fine. Let me in." Vima drew himself up to his full height, moving his belt with his lightsabre on it round the back of his robes. "Jedi" always attracted attention. A lanky Kadas'sa'Nikto with a dirty red hood and a green scaly face opened the door from within. He eyed Aron up and down.

"You, ugh… Zabrak?" the Nikto asked hesitantly.

"Iridonian." Aron quickly replied, knowing that few people knew the difference between the natives of Zabrak and the colonists of Iridonia.

"Alright, money up front. As in now." Aron sighed at the Nikto's distrust and first pulled out a 50 credit chip followed by two tens. He hesitated before forking over another 15 deposit.

"I know how this works you know," Aron said, gesturing to the 15 credit deposit, "you're just going to spend that right away and come up with a reason not to give it back to me in two weeks won't you" The Nikto smiled a very unpleasant smile.

"You've rented from me before have you?" The Nikto tossed a keycard to Aron. "Fourth door on your right, two beds and a wardrobe. No loud noise." The rusty door slammed shut in Aron's face. Vima smiled to himself at the endless friendliness of the galaxy and began to walk to his and his master's newly acquired lodgings. He tossed a credit chip to a beggar at the side of the street.

Meanwhile, Veshnar had already begun enquiries. He had quickly located the crime scene – a high rise block of flats, standing out in Dengkow as the only building for a hundred miles in any direction that deserved to be called clean with the possible exception of the military base. The flats were also the most expensive accommodation in the city and showed it through security, luxury furniture and views to die for. The flats had of course been closed off so when Veshnar approached the bottom of the tower he found a young and nervous looking CSF officer barring his access. The officer gulped when he saw him approach – the crimson eyes often did elicit this response.

"I'm sorry citizen, these flats have been shut down for the time being in the wake of Senator Bilik's murder." Bilik, obviously it was Bilik. Veshnar called to mind everything he knew about Senator Bilik. He was a veteran politician, a big name on Caston long before the military had arrived and started taking over. Due to the civilian populations reliance on trade even Caston's government was part of the mercantilism business. The elected "Court of trade" was something akin to a senate relied on to enforce embargo laws as a priority but also handle everything else that came with a governing body. Bilik was the "Quartermaster" of the court of trade – essentially the Caston version of a Prime Minister. No wonder his death had caused such outcry! Veshnar subtly showed his lightsabre to the young guard and without another word marched past him, getting into the nearest lift.

Veshnar eventually reached the top floor and walked into a blizzard of CSF officers and detectives, milling around an extremely spacious area tastefully attired with loungers and pot plants while looking out over the entire city from a curved skylight. Veshnar was immediately set upon by three officers armed with blaster pistols.

"Who are you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Who let you up?" They asked almost in unison. Veshnar remained cool and collected – somebody had to be.

"My name is Mordred Veshnar – Jedi Knight of the Jedi Order under authority of the Jedi Council. I'm here to investigate" Veshnar said pompously. The three officers took an unintentional step back. A high ranking CSF officer with a sensible head on his shoulders walked over to Veshnar at this point.

"Master Jedi, my name is Captain Oodar; I'm in charge of investigating this murder. Could we see some… identification? Can't be too careful in such a sensitive case as this." Veshnar sighed and revealed first his lightsabre and then his personal datapad with the Jedi Council's holo seal on it. Oodar examined them both carefully before nodding and wafting his three heavily armed underlings aside.

"Let him pass. He's a Jedi alright." The three officers reluctantly parted and Veshnar walked through.

"So, Master err…"

"Veshnar"

"Master Veshnar, right. What do you want to know about the case?"

"Everything if possible and time permitting soldier. All I know right now is that Bilik has died and his subjects are in uproar."

"That's something of an understatement I'm afraid. What's odd is that the first officers on the scene – two good men I know personally – didn't reveal details to anyone and the maid has been in our custody ever since she found the body. We have no idea how everybody in the whole damn system found out. "Veshnar stroked his chin thoughtfully as Oodar finished.

"I suppose the main objective of the crime was to create panic then – and the perpetrator has succeeded it seems." Again, Veshnar sighed. "Alright, let me see the body."

"Right this way sir," Oodar said and beckoned Veshnar into a luxurious bedroom suite. With a wave of his hand, Oodar dismissed everyone else in the room and the various crime scene experts and CSF officers filed out begrudgingly. Veshnar gazed at the scene of the crime. Bilik was an elderly purple Twilek with two impressive lekkus on his head. He lay in a silk gray dressing gown on his titanic bed, arms folded on his chest, a peaceful expression on his face. If Veshnar did not know that he had been murdered and could not sense the lack of life in the room, he'd have been sure Bilik was only sleeping. To the left a massive window had been smashed, glass covering the thick pile carpet.

"What was the cause of death?" Veshnar asked, approaching the body on the bed. Oodar joined him and pointed to Bilik's chest.

"If it wasn't for the broken window we wouldn't have suspected foul play at all. We thought it was a heart attack or similar. But then we did a scan of the body and found something very unusual – look." Oodar gestured towards a very small pinprick on the top left side of Bilik's chest. "It's just a small hole – but the scan showed that it travels right the way down into the poor guy's heart. It was a very thin, very sharp needle covered in poison as far as we can tell." Veshnar frowned and put a hand to his forehead.

"So our assassin somehow gets to the top floor of a block of flats, breaks open the reinforced window, overpowers Bilik, forces him onto the bed and plunges this poisoned needle into his heart, killing him almost instantly, right? Was Bilik guarded?"

"Oh yes sir!" Oodar said, looking at Veshnar suspiciously, "he was a high ranking politician – there were two armed Devaronians outside his door the entire night." Veshnar frowned.

"Why didn't they hear the glass breaking?"

"Soundproof room sir, Bilik likes his privacy. But I think the window could still be the key clue. The building has projectile tracking on it – so any swoop bike or jetpack would have been detected by its own heat signature. Who ever got up here must have done so using their own method, probably wings. I have my lieutenant checking the dock authorities for any alien arrivals with natural wings". Veshnar nodded, "prudent" he said approvingly. Oodar seemed encouraged by this.

"What will your next move be Master Jedi?" Oodar asked nervously. He enjoyed being complimented by a Jedi but he knew they could be trouble. And this was his investigation, not a Jedi's…

"My Padawan and I will do a thorough sweep of the room, then begin compiling a list of suspects. I expect you and your men will be doing the same?"

"Oh yes sir!" Oodar replied hurriedly, not wanting to look incompetent, "I'll gather all the available information together." Veshnar nodded and dismissed the captain. He retrieved his personal communicator from his pocket and contacted Vima, who answered after a pause.

"Yes Master?"

"Have you attained accommodation for us young Padawan?"

"Yes Master, just some cheap flop house for us to sleep in. Where are you?"

"I'm at…" Veshnar checked his holopad, "Kyborg Tower, middle of the city. I need you to help me properly analyze the crime scene. Oh, and stay focused young one. The force is telling me strange powers are at work. This murder is more complex than it appears."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Vogga was in a terrible mood. This wasn't unusual. His temperament was often easily disturbed but for once he had good reason to really get ticked off. Mossa had just explained, with much trepidation, that the smuggling group he backed in the Mirgoshir system had been completely wiped out by Republic operatives, probably Jedi. The 12 ships in the "Red sun" organisation had set the Hutt back some 2 and a half million credits – credits which he now knew he would not be getting back, and if there was one thing that Vogga hated more than everything else it was losing money. The Hutt shifted uncomfortably on his dais, mounted on the bridge of his own luxury cruiser, the _Vogga's Pride_ – he had always disliked travel as well. Mossa nervously approached his master, body already tensed for the inevitable tongue lashing.

"Mossa! How long before we reach Nar Shaddaa?"

"Another six hours I'm afraid sir. Is there any hurry?"

"Yes Mossa, there is. I've decided to do something about this incident with the Red Sun slavers. I want you to put our top Bothans on finding out which Jedi shut us down – and then post a bounty on his or her head." Mossa practically choked.

"You can't be serious sir! A bounty on Jedi, it's… it's unheard of!"

"Incorrect my faithful retainer. An old exchange boss known as Goto – at one point a real rival to me - put a bounty on surviving Jedi from one of their religious wars that they always have. If that has been could do it, I certainly can." Mossa was not convinced.

"But the Jedi represent the spiritual arm of the republic. If we openly attack them we could ignite the war we've been trying to avoid for decades!" Vogga sneered at Mossa cruelly.

"You gutless cur Mossa! I do what I want and nobody insults me like these Jedi have – now tell me, who would they most likely be?"

"Err… well, rumour has it that several teams were responsible, usually a Jedi Knight and his apprentice in each. From there the Bothans would need to contact the slavers themselves for a description and match it with the known information about current Jedi, further narrowing the list using statistics to determine how likely…"

"Enough Mossa! Just do it. I don't care how it's actually done – go."

"There was one other matter which I thought you'd be interested in sir – it's rather important". Vogga shifted on his dais to actually look at Mossa for the first time in the conversation.

"Really Mossa? What might that be?"

"Well sir, Senator Bilik of the Caston system… is dead. Murdered." Vogga was stunned.

"But that's wonderful news! Bilik was a key person ensuring stability on Caston. Just think of the chaos his murdered must have caused! Wait a minute – I didn't order that did I?"

"Not to my knowledge, no sir. However much it may have benefitted you."

"Alright then – I want to know who did it and why if it wasn't one of my guys. And don't forget about those Jedi. Now go!" So Mossa left, with instructions to hunt down Jedi Knights, and a sick feeling in his stomach.

Aron Vima stood next to his master in the penthouse apartment, master and apprentice side by side, viewing the crime scene. Aron broke the silence first.

"So who do you think did it then?" he asked, gesturing towards Senator Bilik's body. Veshnar turned to his apprentice and gave a smile.

"In this situation my young padawan, the "who" is far less important than the "why". This is not the work of a scorned lover or a cheated business partner – this is no crime of passion at all. The killer was cold and methodical, careful and purposeful – they did the job and got out. I would bet my knighthood that they were paid to do this." Aron thought about this.

"So we need to look for who would hire somebody to do this?"

"The Hutt's are the single, glaring suspects for the moment. They greatly benefit from any interference on Caston, and an unstable government is a birthday present for them." Aron looked worried.

"Should we, uh, haul one in for questioning?" Veshnar smiled at his padawan naiveté.

"First of all, hauling a Hutt anywhere is a task not to be taken lightly. Second, if we threaten a Hutt crime lord, we endanger various government contracts which could put thousands of Republic citizens out of work or in debt. It is a shame but the great power the Hutt's wield makes them almost untouchable." Aron was outraged.

"But that's not fair! If they are responsible they should face punishment just like everybody else! Having money doesn't put you above the law!"

"Yes boy, but the Hutt's operate out of Hutt space which –"

"But Hutt space ends at Caston. If a murder happens on Caston then Republic law is still in effect. How can we dismiss that?" Veshnar tried to placate his morally outraged padawan – Aron had always struggled with the compromises Jedi of this era had to make, specifically towards the money grabbing Hutts.

"Calm yourself young one. Remember, there is no emotion –"

"There is peace" Aron finished sullenly, brow furrowed and lips pouting, "but what about the killer? Are we not going to help the Captain find him?"

"Yes young one we will, if only to prevent an innocent person suffering. Highly sensitive cases like this often require a fall guy or patsy to quickly appease outraged mobs. We must prevent this." Veshnar gestured and the two Jedi began examining the room in detail. Vima began at the window – the way the glass had fallen clearly showed that the window had been broken from the outside, and with great force. Veshnar wandered all over the room, sporadically picking up the various sculptures and tasteful glass decorations that made the hotel room so classy. Eventually he once again examined the body, lifting Bilik's prone head with the force and gazing at the wound which killed Caston's "Quartermaster". As if confirming something, Veshnar nodded to himself and wandered over to a far wall. He spoke with his teacher's voice to Vima softly.

"Anything strike you as unusual padawan?" Inwardly Aron groaned. He hated that phrase "young padawan", it was the most patronising thing he'd ever heard, appearing to be a sign of affection but in actuality telling him of both his lowly age and lowlier rank within the Jedi. Also, Vima had not noticed anything unusual and was therefore in danger of disappointing his Master once again.

"Err… not a very subtle break in? For a political assassination I mean." Vima winced – was that the right thing to say?

"Very good. If the purpose was simply to kill Bilik then what necessitated such a flashy entrance? Why not kill him with a bomb in a public place if outright fear was desired from his death?" Vima again lacked any answers.

"Err… because they wanted to kill him in his sleep but couldn't find another way in?" Veshnar smiled.

"A reasonable supposition padawan but that would suggest this was poorly planned. An assassin aims to kill the Quartermaster while he sleeps with a poison needle – perfectly possible by the way, I doubt you'd wake up with such a thin thing piercing your body – but turns up at the building and realises the only way to get him is through a reinforced window? That does not sound like the MO of any professional I've ever heard of." Vima felt himself getting frustrated with his Masters riddles.

"Do you have an answer to this Master?"

"Not a one. Not yet anyway. However, it is possible that …" Veshnar's personal communicator sounded an alarm. He answered it.

"Ah, Captain I wanted to… well no I don't think… Oh, really! Well, if you think it best to… I'm pleased, it's just… no at this early stage the media can… well at least let me interview him fir… that's all I ask. Goodbye." Veshnar curtly snapped his communicator off.

"Well that's not good."

"What?"

"The head of the investigation, Oodar, has taken a suspect into custody. He's convinced they've got their man." Vima looked sceptical.

"Who is it? Who's he got?"

"Dengkow customs picked up a Vor male trying to leave the planet without a tourist visa. Oodar is convinced he's got his killer. I've asked him to let me interview the poor thing before he tells the media."

"Could it be the killer? Really?"

"It's very unlikely young Padawan. As any investigation will show, you catch a culprit with immense hard work, patience and tenacity. Very rarely do you get your target with the first being you arrest. We'd better head to the military station and make sure Oodar doesn't do anything rash. If he's wrong he'll ruin his own career and this Vor's life."

Villssk was a Trandoshan. A large Trandoshan. He was also a Mercenary. Over the last five years of profitable jobs on Nar Shaddaa he had become, in a select group's eyes, **the** mercenary. He liked to boast that he had killed, tortured, butchered or eaten an individual from every sentient species in known space. Whether this was true or not, few would be brave enough to bring him to task with it. A single glance at Villssk would tell you why. He was over 7 feet tall, had a mouth full of 2inch long teeth and never left a room without a repeating blaster rifle and wicked-looking vibrosword for company. Villssk was the leader of the Gaping Maw, a band of a hundred or so bounty hunters who worked together for a vast sum of credits. They were not exclusively hired by the Hutt's but outside of the crime lords and the Exchange, no one could afford them, or would even want their services anyway. The Gaping Maw did not capture. The Gaping Maw did not hold people to ransom. The Gaping Maw killed, quickly, brutally and with extreme prejudice. Villssk was not, it should be said, a snob. He did not turn down small contracts when he got them. If he and he alone were paid to kill someone he would deal with it without consulting the rest of the Gaping Maw at all. He allowed his men a similar level of autonomy when not together on a big job. But gathered together and properly equipped? The Gaping Maw with Villssk at its head could tear apart a star system for as little as non-payment of debts.

Villssk was currently in a deep pit of Nar Shaddaa, buried away in the industrial sector. He marched alone down the narrow streets with purpose, confidence and malice. Doors and windows slammed shut in his wake for fear of catching his attention. Eventually he reached the right address and wrapped his knuckles on a wrought iron door. It opened slowly and two beady eyes look out at him. The occupant, on seeing Villssk, quickly tried to shut the door again but Villssk was quicker and barged it open with his shoulder. The beady eyes belonged to a Rodian who now stumbled backwards, away from the frightful reptile. Behind him, 3 other aliens sat at a table in a dingy, squalid room. They had apparently been playing Pazaak but now all looked round in fear, a second Rodian, a Twilek and a Gran.

"Hello boys" Villssk said with a hiss. The first Rodian at the door reacted first, reaching behind him and pulling out a large blaster pistol. Unfortunately for him, Villssk's cold blood was fired up with battle and grabbed the Rodian by the face in a clawed hand before the hapless scum could squeeze off a single shot. Behind Villssk the other three aliens were reaching for their weapons – nobody but the suicidal walk the smuggler's moon unarmed – but Villssk was the only true warrior in the room. He hurled the Rodian, pitifully small in the Trandoshan's grasp, bodily across the room, grunting with satisfaction when the Twilek was hit in the chest by his own comrade. Both thugs went down hard against the far wall. Villssk charged headfirst at the remaining two, drawing his own heavy blaster in a flash and shooting the second Rodian at the pazaak table in the face. The Gran thug had now drawn a bowcaster from beneath the table but by the time it was ready to fire Villssk was too close. In one smooth action, the mighty Trandoshan drew his vibrosword from its sheathe and sliced the Gran in half. Villssk whipped round with all the ferocity of a krayt dragon and plunged the vibrosword into the Twilek's chest, the thug having only just pushed the Rodian off him. The crippled first Rodian now scrabbled around on the floor for a weapon, his back obviously broken. With a snarl Villssk brought his foot up and then down at great speed, crushing the helpless Rodian's throat. With a contented hiss Villssk viewed the carnage – 4 dead in less than 20 seconds. He drew his sword from the burly Twilek's body, cleaned it with his own spit and a rag on his belt and sheathed it. He then picked up the Gran's weapon, a rather large Bowcaster. Villssk sniffed and gazed down the mighty weapons sight. He aimed at the top half of the weapons former owner and fired several shots, the power of the weapon capable of tossing the Gran's torso aside like a doll. Villssk gave his best attempt at a smile (like most Trandoshan facial expressions it was really just a relaxed snarl) and muttered to the bodies strewn around him.

"Too good for the likes of you. Not that you'll need it." Villssk snorted with laughter at his own wit and shouldered the bowcaster as his own. He walked out of the flophouse with the leisurely stroll of a normal being that'd just finished an honest day's work. And in Villssk's twisted mind, that's precisely how he saw himself.

As Villssk left the tomb -like pazaak den he was greeted by two members of his crew, identifiable by the dark, almost black, purple sash around their wastes. There was a Barabel named Ragath in a combat suit and a tall Devaronian dressed in full Mandalorian armour named Farleth – the lieutenants of the Gaping Maw mercenary band.

"Hey boss" Ragath said, respectful to the massive mercenary, "we've just got wind of a special assignment – I think you're gonna wanna hear it". Villssk raised an eyebrow.

"We were asked were we? Who wants our services?" Every "s" out of Villssk's mouth lasted for several seconds. When moody it took him 10 minutes just to tell someone his name. Farleth spoke this time far more hesitantly – he had known Villssk for far less time than the Barabel and was still nervous in his presence.

"We haven't been specifically offered the job – at least not yet – but word on the street is that Vogga the Hutt wants a couple of Jedi bumped off, no questions asked. Details to follow." Villssk thought deeply. He knew the dangers of an assignment like that were twofold. First, Vogga was the enemy (also brother) of Barlo the Hutt, nicknamed "Queen of the slaves" who had been instrumental in first bringing together the Gaping Maw themselves and outfitting them in their early days. They were supposedly free of her influence now of course but she was still their most valued customer – any aid provided to Vogga, Barlo's arch nemesis, would almost certainly change that. Secondly was the more immediate concern of how much damage a Jedi could do and how difficult they could be to kill. Villssk remembered vividly the last time a bounty was posted on Jedi – a lone Jedi female had wiped out dozens of the galaxies top bounty hunters in just a few short months, not to mention killing renowned crime lord and rising star in the exchange Goto, who supposedly posted the bounty in the first place. But Villssk always looked forward to a challenge. Killing scum throughout Nar Shaddaa helped pass the time and sated his blood lust but Villssk needed exertion and challenge as well.

"Inform the other bounty hunters that we are interested in the contract" Villssk said to his lieutenants, "those that ignore us will be the ones who could challenge us. And I enjoy competition." This was of course the benefit of having such a large group of bounty hunters – individual bounty hunters knew that their chances of claiming said bounty with a hundred others working together towards the same end were very low. And besides, Villssk by and large obeyed the rules of the bounty hunters but the more barbaric members of the Gaping Maw were not so averse to killing off hunters searching for the same target. Villssk promptly dismissed his fellow gang members and headed towards a cantina. "Killing Jedi" he thought to himself, "now there's a thought to wash down a breakfast!"

Aron Vima was slumped in a chair in the military station while in the room behind him his Master questioned the Vor suspect. Captain Oodar seemed determined to make it an interrogation and Vima had felt it was so unfair the way the pugnacious Captain had treated the Vor he left the room in protest. As soon as Vima saw the suspect, a Mr Lavuenus, he knew they didn't have the right man and Veshnar knew it too. He was just a poor sentient on an unfamiliar planet at the wrong time. Oodar was determined to prove that Lavuenus was guilty for several reasons – first, Lavuenus' species were gifted with natural flight and had a large, leathery 3 metre wingspan to prove it. Secondly, while the Vor were typically a calm and non-violent species , Mr Lavuenus must have been the exception because he had a record for serving an 18 month stretch at an Alderaan penal colony for unlicensed bounty hunting in Republic space. Oodar lumped the common job of "bounty hunting" in with the not-so-common job of "professional assassin" and thus had his killer. Thirdly and currently most prevalently, the Vor were an infamously taciturn and stoic species, never prone to showing emotion, positive or negative. Oodar clearly did not know this, despite Veshnar telling him several times, and therefore continued to believe that Lavuenus' silence was incriminating rather than merely a racial trait. It was, just as Veshnar had predicted, an unfair and bias arrest due to the intense pressure Oodar was under to find the culprit. In this at least, Aron sympathised with the frustrated Captain – word had got out that a Vor had been taken into custody and with the same suspicious speed that the original murder became known, a mob had quickly assembled at the possibility of seeing the culprit. At least a hundred angry Twileks and Devaronians now stood outside the military base with more joining all the time. Veshnar would have to calm things down quickly or there could be a lynching.

Lavuenus himself was not the murderer of course. He sat with a passive expression on his narrow, birdlike face, betraying no sign of the fear he felt inside. The Vor were artisans, poets and singers – they were categorically not contract killers. The Vor in question had only been caught as a bounty hunter by helping an old friend restrain a thief out on one of the moons of Bogden. The Republic officer who had arrested him could not speak Lavuenus' native language and charged him with illegal bounty hunting and resisting arrest, the latter crime Lavuenus was definitely guilty of at least. The bird man didn't like this situation one bit. The interrogation room was closed off and stuffy, his interpreter was doing a lousy job relaying his words and he definitely didn't trust the crimson eyed Jedi who purported to be on his side. Like so many of the galaxies population, the Chiss' blue skin and red eyes made Lavuenus extremely uncomfortable.

"…I can help you, but we have to determine what you are doing here citizen, and why you don't have a tourist visa" the interpreter finished, summing up what Veshnar had just said in the incomprehensible Galactic Basic. Lavuenus sighed deeply and spoke slowly to the interpreter, reciting once again the reason for his stay. The interpreter listened very closely, panic spreading over his face as he struggled to decipher the Vor's strong accent. Finally the interpreter understood and turned to Oodar and Veshnar with an apologetic look on his face.

"Well?" Oodar said impatiently.

"He says… he says he's here to organise a new trading contract between Caston and Vortex, his home world. It was a diplomatic mission which is why he doesn't have a visa."

"Oh no," Oodar said triumphantly, "that won't fly at all. He should have a diplomatic visa if that was the case."

"Yes Captain but he said he cancelled it himself this morning, his meeting was called off."

"And why was that exactly? Trade is very important on Caston, what could possibly take prevalence?"

"The man he was meeting up with was assassinated and he decided to get off the planet quickly to avoid potential backlash." Oodar was dumbfounded. He whispered softly to the interpreter.

"Who was the man he was supposed to meet?"

"Quarter Master Bilik sir. Mr Lavuenus was appointed to negotiate a trade agreement with the head of the guild."

Several hours later, Veshnar and Vima walked back to their new flophouse lodgings, the laughter of the military bases soldiers still ringing in their ears. It would take some time before Oodar's pride recovered from the humiliation of arresting a diplomatic emissary whose sole purpose on Caston was to meet the man Oodar accused him of murdering. A mistake in the system had failed to show Lavuenus' status as a diplomat and instead merely showed his criminal file from several decades, and another life, ago. Oodar had rushed to fill in the blanks and arrested one of the few men on Caston who literally would suffer if Bilik died. Veshnar had just explained this to the now dispersed crowd, throwing Oodar to the Kath hounds somewhat and now the two Jedi were heading for a rest after a productive first day on Caston. Oodar had left them, still desperate to further shoot himself in the foot by looking for other species on Caston who could naturally fly, but since he was nearly hysterical after being mocked so publicly by his own men and a large crowd, Veshnar highly doubted his chances of achieving much more today.

"Well, you did warn him not to rush things, didn't you Master" Aron Vima said smugly. Veshnar gave him a disapproving glance.

"The Jedi do not need to say _I told you so_ young padawan. We must rise above such pettiness."

"Yes master" Aron said casually. Whenever he knew "young padawan" was about to crop up in a sentence, he often tuned out. Veshnar took him to task with it this time. He drew his padawan over to one side with a stern fatherly hand.

"No, young padawan, not just _yes master_. I want you to understand these lessons. You have immense potential, don't throw it away by belittling others who have less… facilities than you do. You will make a fine librarian one day and protect and study our archives, but for now you have to learn the most valuable lesson of all – you don't know everything. I have been with the Jedi for 25 years and I certainly don't understand some aspects of human behaviour."

"But Master I-"

"No buts! No excuses! A Jedi is humble and meek unless the weak are threatened, passive until the innocent are harmed, wise until the stars burn out into the void. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death…"

"There is the force." Aron finished for him, but at the moment he said it he felt dissatisfied with it. But perhaps all he really wanted was to leave Caston, and get back to his beloved books on Dantooine. The master and apprentice entered their dingy flophouse in silence and went to sleep on ill terms.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Grand Admiral Quasar had the last drink of his life. He didn't know it then of course, as the fiery shot of Juma juice slid down his throat. He always had a small glass of the alcohol before he began his day. Quasar was already dressed in his splendid orange and gold admiralty finery and swept back his greying hair to put on his military cap. His ship, the _Resurrection_ was the largest vessel in the Republic Navy, not to mention the most heavily armed dreadnought in the galaxy so it was with forgivable confidence that he walked the _Resurrection_'s corridors to the bridge. Normally the Grand Admiral was a careful man - some men became great through rash acts, others plotted and planned carefully, Quasar being the latter – but today he was allowing his guard to slip. It was the end of a six month tour of duty and his mostly human crew were finally returning to Coruscant. The mood on board was jubilant and it was catching - which was a real shame for Quasar because today he should have been on high alert. He entered his private office, adjacent to the bridge and sat down at his desk. He briefly checked on screen navigation charts – all was well – and contacted his Captain with orders to progress to Coruscant with maximum speed. That done, he relaxed in his chair and imagined greeting his wife at the star port, smiling at the thought. He was just about to contact his Captain again when he suddenly found he couldn't breathe. He felt intense pressure on his chest and clawed at his uniform. He gasped and reared his head back in agony, stepping away from his desk and knocking over his chair. He fell to the ground and tried to crawl to the door but didn't get halfway. A burning sensation was spreading rapidly across his back until it was roasting him alive – just in the corner of his eye he was surprised to see a knife plunged into his back. Just behind his desk a woman with baby blue skin appeared with eyes white as milk, as if drawing away a cloak which hid her from the world. The Grand Admiral briefly had time to recognise this as a stealth generator before the agonising pain forced him to close his eyes, never to open again. The Grand Admiral was dead.

The Harrow was an assassin. In fact, the Harrow considered herself the best assassin in the galaxy and her most recent hit would continue to prove that without doubt. She walked over to the prone Admiral and checked his pulse. Nothing. He'd gone. The Harrow attempted a smile but couldn't pull it off. It's very difficult to smile if you've never really experienced genuine happiness. The Harrow was an Arkanian offshoot species, sharing the milky white eyes of pure blooded Arkanians yet bearing light blue skin which made her appear somewhat less threatening. This was of course a misnomer. The Harrow had never had a proper name, never lived a proper life. She had no hair, no past, no personality and no mercy. Her only apparent purpose in life was to amass vast amounts of credits to buy high end weapon technology, more often than not from the Arkanians themselves and had financed this little habit by killing people. She looked like a young woman in her early twenties but if reports of her operating even before the Mandalorian wars were true than she was obviously much older. Business was good. There was plenty of work for all bounty hunters with the Hutts taking such prevalence in current politics and the Harrow was Vogga the Hutt's number one assassin. And now she had finally completed an assignment given to her some 7 months ago. It had been extremely hard to get to Quasar. But now the task was done and Vogga the Hutt owed the Harrow 50,000 credits and the crime lord knew better than to hold out on her. The Harrow finished her attempted smile and re-activated her stealth generator, heading towards her escape route.

The Harrow left the ship in an escape pod 20 minutes before the Grand Admirals body was even found. By the time the Republic Military located the crashed pod on the planet's surface, the Harrow was already halfway to Hutt space in her own ship. Her on board communicator flashed. She answered it. The Harrow had not bothered to install hologram technology – she preferred transactions in which not even her employer ever saw her face – so it was only Mossa the Twilek's voiced which filled the cockpit of her ship.

"Greetings Harrow, the great Vogga the Hutt sends his regards." Mossa said, grovelling as only a Twilek Major Domo can.

"I'd rather he send his credits" The Harrow replied brusquely, ice creeping into her voice, "because my contract is complete and I expect to be paid very soon." Mossa gasped.

"Admiral Quasar is dead? That's fantastic news! Vogga will truly be pleased. When will you collect your credits?" The Harrow never took any form of payment other than cash and relied on a trusted courier to bring her the money from one of Vogga's minions. As with a large number of shady deals, this arrangement always took place on the smugglers moon: Nar Shaddaa.

"As soon as possible Twilek – I have bills to pay. I am on my way to the usual rendezvous as we speak."

"And your money will be there… unless you'd like more?"

"Don't toy with me worm. What are you getting at?" The Harrow never had time for the odious Mossa's games.

"Well, Vogga has just stated his intention that he wants 6 new targets wiped out. The price is 20,000 per head." The Harrow raised an eyebrow at the colossal price.

"What's the catch?" the Harrow asked, knowing full well that Vogga wouldn't part with well over a hundred thousand credits unless he was really serious about the targets.

"Well that's a touch… delicate. The fact is all the targets are… Jedi." The Harrow's face showed nothing. After a pause, she spoke again.

"What are the details?" On the other end of the line, Mossa smiled.

"I'll send you their names and faces" he said.

Grandmaster Vallo was slumped in his chair behind a dull grey desk. He wasn't asleep, just resting his tired eyes: next year he would be 70 years old. He had lived an eventful life, learning, fighting and teaching all the way and it had not been easy. When he was 8 years old he became an apprentice, when he still had no master at the age of 18 he left the order. At the age of 27 he met a woman who would change his life. He knew her for only a few short months, but he still thought of her in his twilight, now that he was old and his blonde hair had turned white through the decades. She was, of course, the exile, the Jedi General who fought at Malachor V and was stripped of the force only to return stronger than ever, cleansing the last of the Sith from the galaxy. And before she left to follow an old friend, the exile had asked Mical to reform the order, with Atton and Mira and the others. Mical had obeyed, was still obeying – a Jedi's work never ends. There was of course something of a leadership battle between Atton and Mira, both of whom felt that they should be named Grand Master. Mical had suggested that they abolish the title altogether and truly rule as a council of equals– a suggestion which made it abundantly clear that if there had to be a Grandmaster, Mical was the obvious choice.

"_He will eventually sit on the council, reluctantly as all good men do"_

Mical did not like to make comparisons with his own order and the one Revan, Malak and the others destroyed. He felt that the collapse of the order was not one man or woman's fault, so why cast blame? He knew his order was… different at least. More forgiving certainly. Love was not encouraged but not squashed either. This was a point of contention for some because it clashed with the very first rule in the Jedi code: _there is no emotion, there is peace_, but Mical and the council knew the weakness of that creed from the outset – without love, companionship and, at times, anger they would never have been brought together by the Exile – who was always a passionate woman. So, while children were frowned upon, relationships were not. How could they be, when the two most volatile council members, Master Atton Rand and Master Mira Ordo, were in an odd relationship of their own? So he had led as best he could and he had raised his fair share of padawans. He'd fought against the dark side in his journeys with the exile and he had dealt with it again in his new Order. Padawans had turned. Untrained force users had caused panic. Good friends had died. And just like that the venerable old master was thinking of Master Kae again, killed on a space shuttle. "She shouldn't have gone that way" he thought to himself and he was right. Kae had been an Echani – they lived for combat. Brianna should have died defending others from harm, not in the same explosion that killed hundreds. The Grandmaster raised a hand to his head and massaged his temple. He felt deep within and found the only comfort a Jedi requires – the warm glow of the force. He felt it rise within him and cast it all around, climbing higher, out of the room to the academy around him, interacting with other glows of the force held within the Knights stationed here and the padawans who trained diligently. The warmth spread further, up and up, now sensing Pikar itself, the quiet, mundane minds of the farmers in the fields, the frantic chatter of the merchants in the town, the rolling green plains covered in cows and sheep, the dense forests filled with spiders and snakes, Iriaz and Kinrath, all living their ordinary lives on a quiet afternoon. Still the warmth spread further, away from Pikar now, gliding through the silence of space faster than any ship, more systems coming into view, more planets, more stars, more life than a mind could possibly even comprehend, all streaming to Mical's heart. And finally the whole galaxy came into view, it's enormity, it's incomprehensible scale, it's trillions upon trillions of denizens. Here, away from the trivial matters of money and order, away from the hum of living and dying, here away from everything known… a man could be at peace.

But not for long.

"Master! Master!" a shrill voice rang out, and Mical Vallo was back on Pikar, with all his endless responsibilities and concerns. A tiny Twilek padawan in loose tan robes toddled into the Grandmasters office. Clearly he had been given a task and its importance was enormous to him. Vallo smiled to himself. If it had been anyone else who had interrupted his meditation he would have resented them for it, but not a youngling. He raised his head and gave the Twilek a piercing stare.

"What is it Obbno?" he asked in a too-sombre voice. Obbno did a fleeting bow and spoke very quickly.

"!" the Twilek said in one breath, made worse by the fact that he was already exhausted from running all the way to Vallo's office.

"Thank you young Jedi", Vallo said with a serious expression on his face, "you've been of great service to the order. You're dismissed to get some dinner." The little Twilek grinned manically and bowed so low he almost cracked his head on the marble floor. Without another word he rushed out again, just as frantically as he came in. Vallo chuckled to himself. The younglings always brought a smile to his face and reminded him why he should never lose faith. He stood up and walked out of his office into the central courtyard of the Pikar academy. Like the council chamber, the academy was a light, spacious affair covered in cool colours of greys, whites and light blues. The complex was nowhere near as big as the temple on Coruscant but the Jedi still hadn't returned to the capital even forty years after the civil war. As Grandmaster Vallo himself put it, some wounds require more than one lifetime to heal. So Coruscant was left alone and the headquarters of the Jedi was moved to Pikar in top secrecy, construction taking five years to complete. Pikar was chosen because it was calm, out of the way and largely unknown to the galaxy. Even now, only a select few in power actually knew where the Jedi called home and Mical Vallo liked that just fine.

Gyr Prisht was sitting beneath a crooked white tree, enjoying watching an entire horde of padawans armed with training batons attempt to subdue the un-armed Master Shenzon, a Nazzar Jedi trained by sword master Mira herself. The agile Shenzon took only a few moments to disarm and neutralise the padawan team, slapping his hands together when he was finished, surrounded by fallen padawans clutching aching hands, feet or joints.

"Now class," he said with a grin, "what went wrong with that attack?"

"You're too fast!" squeaked one indignant padawan who climbed to her feet. "We can't get near you!"

"No, that's not correct youngling," Shenzon said, "If you had worked together you could have overwhelmed me." Obviously this was not true. The tall, horse like Jedi was renowned as a powerful warrior – one of the finest in the new order. "Does anyone want to try again? He asked with a smile. Unsurprisingly, there were no takers for this suggestion so Shenzon cut the lesson short. Gyr Prisht smiled again from her spot under the tree. Shortly, Grandmaster Vallo joined her, taking a seat next to his small, birdlike friend.

"Gyr, a padawan said you wanted to see me?"

"Oh yes, I did Mical. We need to talk. About Master Osti." Mical nodded.

"We sent Mira to go look for him this morning – what about him?"

"Do you remember the meeting, several months ago where the council decided to appoint him as a Master?"

"Of course – if I remember correctly, only you and Master Marr were against the promotion."

"We were. Did you ever wonder why?" Gyr fixed Vallo with a gaze so piercing only a bird species could pull it off.

"Visas told me it was something to do with a vision she had – but she wasn't convinced and had no real reason not to make young Osti a Master. Why do you bring it up?" Gyr frowned and leant in close to the grandmaster.

"I remember teaching Osti myself in language studies – he was bright, gifted, kind and charismatic – everything we look for in a Jedi. It wasn't his abilities that worried me or even his attitude – it was the force around him which got us all excited. And now he's disappeared."

"We don't know that. Mira will find him soon."

"She won't Mical. I know it, Visas knows it and you know it too. Something has happened to Osti, I can feel it through the force." Grandmaster Vallo sighed. He too had sensed that something was wrong with Osti's disappearance.

"Alright Gyr, what if you're right? What's our next step? If Mira finds any trace of…" A scream ripped through the courtyard, silencing the venerable Master. It was not just the scream which disturbed the two masters, sat beneath the tree – along with the scream had come a disturbance in the force. Shenzon rushed over to Prisht and Vallo from inside the academy, a look of worry on his face. All around them the once busy courtyard had come to a standstill – all Jedi present had felt the ripple in the force.

"What is it Shenzon?" Vallo asked frantically.

"It's Master Visas Marr Grandmaster – she's collapsed and won't wake up."

An hour later and Visas Marr still had not been revived. The members of the council still present on Pikar now gathered around her bedside: Chodo Habat, Mical Vallo, Atton Rand, Gyr Prisht and Master Vodnick. Master Habat placed a hand on Visas' prone forehead as she lay in bed, worry creasing his alien face.

"She's weak." He said simply, "she's had a shock and it's hurt her badly. She always was the most sensitive of us." Mical Vallo nodded.

"Will she recover any time soon?" Habat looked at Vallo and sadly shook his head.

"She's comatose and unresponsive right now. We have a Selkath doctor on call who's eager to give her a cocktail of drugs in an effort to wake her up but I just don't think that's a good idea. She went down while meditating – using drugs to interfere with matters of the force should not be encouraged."

"Should we be worried about this?" Master Atton Rand asked. "She obviously saw something through the force and if it was scary enough to put her in a coma…" Mical cleared his throat.

"Calm yourself Atton. Visas has always been our seer – she has to cope with things that we do not. The force is not always kind to her people, you know this."

"I know what her happened to most of her people on Katarr if that's what you mean Mical. These people are not easily disturbed." Mical turned on Atton now.

"Atton please be quiet! I do not want this issue to get around the academy. We need to do some damage reduction here."

"I'm inclined to agree with Atton here – we need to know what we saw. Maybe the drugs might be a viable option?" Gyr Prisht interjected. Chodo Habat looked uncomfortable.

"Look Mical, surely you can see something is wrong here?" Atton spoke again, more frantic this time. "First we lose Brianna less than six months ago. Now Xander Osti is out of contact on a politically unstable system and then this happens. We both know there is no coincidence – there is only the force. We are being attacked. Someone is attacking the Jedi."

"Alright, I admit the possibility, but I don't want Visas woken up until we are certain she won't naturally sometime soon. We have to find out what she saw that rendered her catatonic but we don't need to know that badly." Chodo Habat nodded approvingly. Suddenly a low beeping noise began to echo from the vicinity of Master Vodnick. The Rodian Jedi Master sheepishly pulled out his communicator.

"Sorry everyone, I thought I'd turned it off." He looked at the guilty device briefly and did a double take. "Atton may be right," he said "one of our informers has just got wind… that someone has put a bounty on Jedi." There was silence in the room.

Admiral Nova was at the com station in his office when one of his underlings walked into the spacious room. The young soldier stood to attention and saluted the Admiral.

"At ease soldier" Nova said, barely looking up from his screen. An issue down in the engine room had caught his attention but it wasn't a particularly interesting problem. Apparently a surplus of fuel cells had been used prematurely by the engine crew – just one of the thousands of cretinous mistakes the Admiral had to suffer every day on board such a large ship commanding such a large crew – and now he was determined to punish whoever was responsible.

"Permission to speak sir!" the young Corporal in front of him barked.

"Granted" Nova muttered.

"Sir, urgent news from the Admiralty board. According to reports, Grand Admiral Quasar has been assassinated." This definitely grabbed Nova's attention.

"Are you sure soldier? Quasar is dead?" The soldier nodded the affirmative.

"Well then, we'd better make for Coruscant hadn't we?" Nova said simply. "Dismissed Corporal". The soldier saluted again and left the room. Nova was reeling – the treacherous Hutt had finally done it! He'd come through on his promise to remove Quasar from the equation, paving the way forward for Nova's ascension to Grand Admiral. Now all that needed to be done was to assure (or bribe, whichever was easier) the Admiralty board that he was the right man for the top job. And when they did he could finally gain vengeance on those who had wronged him. And yet… Vogga would expect him to uphold his end of the bargain now that Quasar was dead, and if he didn't, the Hutt could reveal the information that he and a crime lord were in league. Nova's brow furrowed at the thought of being under the Hutt's thumb. He'd have to do something about that: killing Vogga was obviously not an option – the Hutt was notoriously paranoid and picky about who came to see him – but maybe something more subtle was called for. Vogga maintained the lion's share of Hutt power by continually playing his rivals against one another, a game he played well, but if they all worked against him he'd be finished in a heartbeat. Just as Vogga had information of Nova, Nova needed information on Vogga to ensure everybody stayed chummy. Nova rested back in his chair, the earlier irritation about the misused energy cells gone. He needed to do some digging.

Aron Vima and Mordred Veshnar awoke early to a breakfast of canned something from a street vendor. During the night a storm had rolled into Dengkow and now the streets were being continually battered with a torrent of rain. While just the day before had been bright and sunny, today the sky was so dark the sun might not have risen at all. Veshnar had apparently decided to ignore the tension from last night and dive right back into the investigation, first contacting Oodar to see if he had any other leads. Unsurprisingly the frazzled Captain had been up all night chasing his "natural wings" theory and found absolutely nothing. After their impromptu breakfast the two Knights rushed through the rain back to Kyborg Tower, now practically fortified by police as rumours had spread that that was where the murder had occurred. However the residents of Dengkow weren't quite angry enough just yet to go outside in the storm conditions so Vima and Veshnar were the only two non-military personnel near the tower at all. Sopping wet, the Master and Apprentice rode to the top of the tower in the elevator and entered the deserted private suite. The body of Bilik had been extensively photographed and taken from the room in preparation for the funeral. Other than that the room was exactly the same as it had been before, not counting a large Perspex sheet at the window to stop the hurricane winds trashing the crime scene.

"So now what Master?" Aron Vima said casually, eager to know how and when he would be getting off this wretched planet.

"We will continue the investigation as best we can" Veshnar replied, "but bear in mind that once Master Osti gets into contact with the council again he will probably want to take over from us."

"I thought the council wanted this investigation concluded quickly? Chopping and changing who's doing the investigation will surely only waste time won't it?" Vima asked plaintively. Veshnar was unmoved, and the tension from the previous night was showing.

"We will obey the will of the council" he muttered and began once again examining the room in detail. Aron kneaded his forehead. Deep down he knew that he should really try harder at this – he'd been with Mordred for a long time and knew what to expect. But did the man have to be so infuriating? Every function, meeting and mission was treated with such intensity it was no wonder he felt stifled by the retentive Chiss. Vima wanted to really travel, not just hop from one planet to another resolving minor trade disputes between governments. Even dealing with the Red Moon group in the Mirgoshir system had been done every step of the way "by the book". Somehow, Mordred Veshnar could suck all the excitement out of any battle, even if it was for their very lives.

"I'm stumped on this one Master – what do you think… in your professional opinion?" Aron knew the best way of buttering up his Master was appealing to his sense of self. The Chiss Jedi scratched his chin ruefully.

"Well young padawan, the shattered window is what's putting me off at this point. I cannot fathom why a professional assassin would use such a crude and brutal method of entry when using such a delicate and dignified method of execution. "

"Could be two assassins I suppose." Vima suggested, frowning as much as his master.

"I highly doubt it. Something tells me this was a single person, but for an assassin I'm sensing an unusual amount of fear. Why break in? Why break in if the target was asleep and you did not need to wake him to kill him?" Aron Vima felt a prickling sensation at the back of his skull. Veshnar would claim it was the force but shear intuition and dumb luck were probably more prevalent in the realisation.

"Wait a minute Master… do you remember our trip to Hrall a few days before we got the last of the slavers in the Mirgoshir system?"

"Of course, what of it?"

"Well, whilst you were looking for information about the slaver's vessel, I hung out at that old junkyard round the back of the bar. I got talking to an elderly Ugnaught who started trying to sell me all sorts of customisation jobs for the Winged Katarn."

"I can't see the connection…" Veshnar said.

"One of the items he tried to sell me was a vacuum sheet, one of those old fashioned devices for plugging up a breach in a hull when your ship is too old or out-dated to use force fields. They create vacuums when opened and placed on a flat surface to prevent the vacuum of space sucking everything out." Veshnar finally got what his padawan was getting.

"So if one of these vacuum sheets were activated against this window from the inside…"

"The glass would break and be sucked into the room. The Assassin wanted us to think he broke his way in!" Both master and apprentice were ecstatic and for a brief moment the Chiss Jedi Knight lost his composure and gave his young Iridonian padawan a hearty clap on the back.

"Well done Aron! Fantastic detective work!" Master and Padawan shared a brief moment. But all too soon Veshnar snapped back into his traditional straitlaced behaviour. "Alright then, so now we know that the killer merely wanted us to think that this assassination was is some way violent, but it's safe to assume that Bilik was killed in his sleep instead. The needle was a specialist weapon requiring very little strength but almost surgical delicacy and administered whilst the target slept. That's a very specific MO disguised by the broken glass. What should we do next young Padawan?"

Aron was surprised and pleased to be consulted.

"Well, I suppose the next step is finding out how the killer did get in here – if not through the window." Veshnar nodded approvingly.

"I've already thought about that Padawan and the answer is very simple. The vents. This tower has a massive air conditioning system, it's the perfect way of moving around undetected. It's also the only way anyone could have got into this room – the door was guarded." Veshnar pointed to the far corner of the room and sure enough, high up near the ceiling was a very small ventilation grate. Both Jedi walked over and Vima ripped the metal grate away from the wall. The tunnel inside was tiny.

"He must be a very small assassin Master" Vima said with a smile – even the skinny Iridonian could only get a single shoulder in the vent.

"Indeed" Veshnar said and pulled out his personal communicator. He quickly requested a download of the buildings blueprints and brought up the ventilation ducts on the small screen.

"Alright young Padawan – the vents end down in the air conditioning unit in the basement. It's time we found our killer."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_38 Years ago…_

A large cruiser ship moved sleekly through the inky depths of space, a small purple trail of burnt fuel spiralling behind. The cruiser was sparkling silver, its shape streamlined, its engines making little more than a purr. Within, a small enigmatic group was at rest, waiting for the end of their journey. A young Jedi with dark hair and darker robes slouched in the cockpit, fingers lazily brushing the cruisers controls. In the seat next to him was another young Jedi, hair the colour of straw and lighter brown robes flowing over himself. Both men seemed ill at ease.

"Atton, I just don't know if this is a good idea. It doesn't seem right!" the blonde Jedi said with a disapproving look. "The Jedi code…"

"Screw the code!" the darker Jedi countered, "I've spent too much of my life in regret. Whatever, Mira and me have is precious and I'm not discarding it simply because you don't approve." The blonde Jedi sighed deeply.

"I can see I won't be able to dissuade you. But think of the ramifications! If two of our founding members are in a relationship, how can we uphold that no other Jedi should?"

"We won't! Don't you get it? The old Jedi did everything wrong at the end! They held back and meditated when really they should have dealt with the Mandalorians when they had the chance. I'm not saying give in to all your passions but you have to have some, otherwise you're barely human anymore! This is our chance to really do things differently, whether you approve or not". The two Jedi lapsed into a tense silence. The dark haired Jedi – Atton – eventually spoke again in frustration.

"Where are we going anyway Mical? Bastila's gone so now we need someone else who knows what their talking about? To teach us before we start teaching others?"

"All I know is that Visas had a vision of a Jedi Master who still lived, someone who the Sith missed somehow. If he or she does exist then we will gain another wise voice to our council." Mical replied, clearly tired of arguing with Atton. But Atton wasn't tired of arguing with Mical.

"This is exactly what I mean! Why are we searching for a relic of the old order when we were told to create our own Jedi? Whoever this Master from Visas' dream is, they're probably going to support the same ideals as the last lot. I cannot and will not allow that Mical, it's not what she wanted."

"It's been two years Atton. It's hard to accept but she isn't coming back. We have to do what we think is best."

"I am Mical… can you say the same?" Once again the cockpit fell silent.

Hours of hyperspace travel later, a woman garbed in black and blue cloth appeared in the cockpit, her eyes obscured by her unusual dress.

"We are very close" she said enigmatically, "prepare to disengage the hyperdrive Atton". Atton nodded and put his hand over a large switch on the control panel. Visas Marr let the pause grow.

"Now" she said. Atton flicked the switch and the cruiser dropped out of hyperspace. Visas had had a vision of a Jedi Master who lived on a remote planet, but unfortunately she had no idea what the co-ordinates for that planet were. Travel through random hyperspace was generally dangerous, but not with Visas Marr guiding your ship.

"You found it… I don't believe it" Atton said, mouth agape. Below them, an entire planet came into view as they excited hyperspace, awash with greens and blues at its equator and Icy white at its poles. The whole crew of the cruiser filtered into the cockpit to get a good look.

"It's such a beautiful place" Brianna said simply.

"Wonderful" Mira agreed. At the back of the group, Bao-Dur was analysing the planet rather than cooing over its beauty.

"Terrestrial, Oceanic, very dense, but with normal gravity… interesting. The force drew us here Visas? Very interesting." Visas turned to look at Bao-Dur and nodded.

"Should we land with the ship then? Do we need to worry about natives?" Atton asked, also looking at Bao-Dur, ever the expert on planetary approach. Bao-Dur thought about this.

"Yes, there may well be a sapient species down there – but from the lack of buildings on our scopes they must be primitive. We should probably take the shuttle, it's more subtle than the whole cruiser. Who's staying behind on the ship?" Mira raised a hand.

"If everyone else is desperate to meet this Jedi Master Visas found, I don't mind looking after the ship. With luck whoever they are will be coming with us anyway." Mical nodded.

"Thank you Mira, we appreciate your sacrifice." Mira rolled her eyes at Mical's dramatics and gestured for the group to leave. One by one, the new council filed out. Atton lingered at the door. He put a hand on Mira's arm and leaned in close to her.

"Maybe I should stay up here? I'm not exactly the perfect Jedi for persuading a Master to join us, especially with my history."

"You'll be better than me Atton. I'll just get annoyed at the guy if he or she refused to help us. Go. Make a new friend." Mira briefly touched Atton's hand on her arm and then turned back to the ships controls. Atton reluctantly left the cockpit.

The shape and style of the shuttle was very similar to the cruiser. It pleased Mical that the executive ship of the Jedi and its shuttle matched tonally. The shuttle descended into the planet's atmosphere at a brisk speed, rapidly arriving at a clearing in an otherwise densely wooded landscape. Visas leant her head back in her seat and whispered:

"We're close. I can feel him." Mical nodded and the five crewmembers filed out of the ship, pausing to view the forest surrounding them. Bao-Dur had already produced an advanced, hand-held scanner from his robe and had begun taking readings of the planet's atmosphere, biosphere and soil. "Nothing especially out of the ordinary. Actually, I was expecting the gravity of this planet to be weaker than it actually is – it's no different from Alderaan." Atton nodded at Bao-Dur.

"I know exactly what you mean, I feel… almost buoyant here, refreshed, light. Does that make sense?"

"It is the force." Visas said cryptically and began walking towards one section of the forest.

"Where's she going?" Atton asked irritably. Bao-Dur merely shrugged. Mical began following his Miraluku colleague. The rest of the group fell in step. Atton sighed and joined his friends. Even having accepted the ways of the Jedi he would always be a lateral thinker and "following" others was not something he'd get used to anytime soon. There were only two people he would let boss him around, both women, one missing, the other annoyed at him for some reason.

The group, led by Visas made fast progress through the forest and with every step the Jedi began to feel the presence that Visas felt from light years away, a distinct force signature that was as old as it was alien and unfamiliar. Eventually the group reached the end of the forest and a flat grassy plain came into view between the thick trees. Atton groaned.

"Why couldn't we just take the shuttle to this plain instead of walking through the forest for three hours?" Neither Mical nor Visas answered. The Miraluku gestured for silence and pointed ahead of her. There, at the start of this rolling grassland was a wide flat rock of obsidian, upon which a figure sat, legs crossed n the lotus position and hands resting on thighs , palms facing the sky. Its back was turned. Mical took the initiative as leader of the group and walked out of the trees towards the figure, nervously but with purpose.

"Excuse me! Sir! We come with respect and a thirst for knowledge. We come to learn of the force!" The figure turned its head and looked at the assembled young Jedi with a smile. It had a relatively human face, (albeit a little more elongated than was usual) covered in fine downy fur as well as two long, curly horns protruding from its head, each with one or two gold rings linked through them. He (for it was a he) also wore a filthy brown tunic to cover an equally furry torso and his legs were coiled powerful things which both ended in a large black hoof. The creature stood, his inhuman, faun-like legs allowing him to tower higher than the Jedi had assumed possible.

"I barely get rid of my last student and six come along at once. Typical." He said. Mical spoke again.

"A student? So you are a Master? You do train people in the force?"

"I like to think I train people about life. That's all the force is anyway." Mical was left perplexed by this so Atton took over.

"Who was the student you mentioned? Did he just leave?"

"His training was completed 17 star cycles ago. Where he wanders now I do not know, nor is it my business." Atton looked at Bao-Dur.

"Star Cycle?"

"Probably how long the outermost planet in the system takes to navigate the sun. Am I right?" The strange creature nodded the affirmative.

"How long is that?" Atton asked. Bao-Dur typed a command into his scanner. He started when he got his result.

"Apparently 17 "star cycles" in this system would take sixty-three galactic standard years."

"Wow! You've lived alone here for sixty-three years? I thought you said your student just left!"

"My apologies. Time is relative and I'm used to having students only rarely. You seek instruction? All six of you?" Mical finally got his breath back and answered the question.

"Yes, we wish to… wait, you can sense the sixth member of our group?"

"Of course. The fiery young woman in the ship above us, stewing at you all for leaving her behind." "You can sense her thoughts? But we're practiced in shielding our minds! Who are you?" The creature smiled.

"My name is Cypholagorax. It's a mouthful, so you are welcome to call me Cy. If you wish to train with me you may call me Master Cy. And I'm afraid that apart from the dark young man over there" Master Cy pointed to Atton at this point, "All your mental shielding could do with some work Mical". Mical stiffened at being addressed directly without giving his name. He straightened up and formally gave his name.

"I am Mical Vallo, Jedi Knight and protector of the galaxy. I and my Jedi associates would benefit greatly from your tutelage, if you can give it as long as we have reassurances that you have no connection to the Sith." Mical took a breath. Master Cy again smiled wryly.

"So, Master Peleiaz has finally sent someone from his order to check on me. How is the old fellow?" There was silence from the five Jedi.

"We… do not know a Master Peleiaz Master Jedi" Visas said nervously, "who is he to you?" Master Cy sighed deeply.

"It seems more time has passed than I assumed. You know not of Peleiaz, my old friend? He was the Master in chief of your "Jedi" order the last I knew. I suppose he must be long dead. Strange I did not feel his passing." Mical's eyes lit up as his memory kicked into gear.

"Wait, I remember! That name is in the archives! Peleiaz, yes I'm sure of it. Peleiaz was a powerful Jedi several centuries ago. He trained… he trained Master Vandar." The whole group gaped at Master Cy in wonder.

An hour later and the five young Jedi and the eccentric Master Cy were resting in the latter's home, a large grey cottage, void of technology of any kind. They all sat in uncomfortable silence whilst Master bustled about his home making some convoluted form of tea, each puzzled and worried by this supposedly ancient Master of the force.

"I sensed you from across the galaxy Master Cy, we are reforming the order" Visa Mar was explaining in an effort to avoid the awkward silence. "Can you really help us?" Master Cy finished making the tea and brought it to the collected Jedi who sat round an oak table.

"Of course I can, and I'm happy to give you the advice you need but don't get me wrong, I'm not joining your order, however much you reform it. My place is here. I'm no Jedi and I'm certainly not willing to sit on a council. But since I've sensed in recent years some extremely unusual force signatures, could somebody tell me what happened to the old order?" Mical cleared his throat.

"Well Master Cy, it all began with the Exar Kun war some 60 years ago. He was a powerful young Jedi who…"

"Turned to the Dark side and started a damaging war, yes I've heard this tale a thousand times before. Arrogant young Jedi find hidden power in the Dark side and make a mess of things – such tales have existed since before "Jedi" and "Sith" were invented. I take it he was eventually beaten?"

"He was yes," Mical continued, "but whilst he waged his war he formed a species called the Mandalorians into a multi-species organisation obsessed with the glory of battle. Fifteen years ago they returned to Republic space to wage another devastating war which had to be countered by a man known as Revan, a Jedi who defied the will of the Jedi council to protect worlds under assault from the Mandalorians." Master Cy nodded appreciatively.

"A little initiative, I like to see that. I believe I've dreamt of this Revan on numerous occasions – in fact, I think I can tell the next part myself. The war ended when something dreadful happened, am I right?"

"You are yes. Malachor V was that terrible thing, a battle so destructive it tore a hole in the force itself. The woman who trained us was subjected to this horrific event and it changed her. It changed everybody. Revan and his fleet chased the Mandalorians to the ends of the Galaxy and when he came back he was a Sith lord, ready to wage _another_ war against the Republic. He eventually had a change of heart but the remaining Sith continued to wipe out the Jedi. We and our Master finished the clean-up job two years ago, as the only Jedi left. That's a greatly edited version of events I can assure you." Master Cy took a deep sip of the herbal tea and sighed.

"That's a remarkable story! Truly remarkable. Tragic too of course, but then conflict naturally springs from divisions of the force."

"Divisions of the force?" Atton asked.

"Yes, when two people attuned to the force have a disagreement, however small, the force can sense it. Divisions as deep as those between the Jedi and the Sith naturally provoke violent reactions within themselves as the representation of the force's own conflict. I have dreamt of Revan and… the Exile for many moons. And now their offspring have come to my door for guidance." The group looked confused by this.

"Offspring?" Brianna queried. Master Cy chuckled and fixed the group with a piercing gaze.

"You all require me in some way – you are all damaged to a certain degree. Brianna Kae, you have yet to understand your own identity, how can you train others if you don't know yourself? And Atton Rand, you still squirm with guilt despite the Exile forgiving you. Mical Vallo, your heart is filled with doubt about your abilities, left over from failing as a Jedi for the first time. Bao-Dur, your mind still focuses too much on the practical in your life. And Visas Marr, you feverishly work under the shadow of an old Master. And what a Master he was. What a shadow."

"Will you teach us?" the budding Jedi asked in earnest.

"Of course I will. But leave your lightsabres behind. I can't be doing with that flashy nonsense."

_Present Day_

The Bloody Husk was a massive warehouse in the Nar Shaddaa mercantile district and served as the headquarters for the Gaping Maw Mercenary group. Today the entire gang was on parade, the vile collection of cutthroats and brawlers were looking in peak condition as they waited for Villssk and his cronies to arrive. The door to the warehouse slammed open and Villssk swaggered in, causing every single Gaping Maw gang member to snap to attention. Villssk was heavily kitted out in a sophisticated Black combat suit, vibrosword in a sheathe and the massive Bowcaster he had claimed from the Pazaak players earlier strapped across his back. As usual, Ragath and Farleth marched sharply behind him.

"Alright boys!" Villssk shouted with devilish delight, "we've got ourselves a job, a **big **job. Three pairs of Jedi Knights have pissed off the wrong people. We're going after them! I've already downloaded names and faces to your team leaders datapad. I want 15 groups of 6 out and on the hunt in the next five minutes. Use sonic charges, electrical shocks and vibroblades to take these Murk lacks down. Move, move move!" The Gaping Maw charged into action, with each team within the group forming quickly and rushing to their ships. Villssk grunted with satisfaction at the efficiency of his men. He turned to Ragath, the Barabel.

"What have you got for me?" Ragath grinned at his gigantic boss.

"For a start, the Zhug brothers have unequivocally stated that they will collect the bounties and no one else. Fighting words I'm afraid." The Zhug brothers were a far reaching organisation made up of Duros mercs who worked together towards a political ideal – reinstating their long lost social status on the home world. Suffice to say, the group had failed to buy back Duros so far but had a least done well for themselves on the Smuggler's moon and other places of ill repute. They were one of the only official bounty hunter teams who outnumbered the Gaping Maw, but they were nowhere near as fierce. Villssk snarled, not angrily but in the only way a Trandoshan knows how to show pleasure.

"Good. I always enjoy slicing through their filthy hides – I will carve a bloody swatch through their entire family! Who else?" Farleth continued the list.

"The Quim boys have already begun searching for the Jedi on the list. Their ship left Nar Shaddaa four hours ago stocked up with supplies, grenades, blasters and heavy weaponry." The Quim boys were a trio of the most violent men you're ever likely to meet. They had three different mothers but the same Mandalorian veteran father who had taught them little except the back of his hand, how to shoot a gun and to never, ever back down. After the oldest of the Quim boys beat dear old dad to death with an ashtray, the three half-brothers had got into the hunting and killing business and made any number of Rancors, Tarentaeks, and Drexls look comparatively subtle. Villssk sneered.

"Amateurish scum is all they are! Keep going!" Ragath took over again.

"Filcher Martin is so hard up he's going for the big prize this time. I didn't think he had the guts to go toe to toe with us but he's wanted by the Hutt's himself so I guess it's all or nothing for him." Filcher Martin was so named for his uncanny ability to locate and steal other hunters bounties, often when the hunter had done the hard part of subduing the target already. However, Martin lacked any other skills save for a quick draw with a blaster and being an incredibly bad liar. He was also a consummate gambler and was desperate for some quick cash to pay off his debt to the Hutts. Villssk actually snorted with derision at the notion of competing against Filcher Martin. Ragath took this as a sign to continue.

"And two left that we know about - The Verpine known as Biting Wind and of course the Harrow. Both are interested in the bounty on the Jedi as well." Biting Wind was an abnormally large member of the insect-like Verpine race. He (or she, who knows with the Verpine) was the most lethal and sophisticated sniper in known space. The Harrow was, simply put, the most dangerous assassin in the galaxy. At the mention of these two names, Villssk practically purred.

"Finally, a genuine challenge! I know the Verpine by reputation and I have been bested by the Harrow on one occasion. It's time for payback. TO THE SHIP!" And with that, the Gaping Maw was on the hunt.

Aron Vima and Mordred Veshnar were in the base of Kyborg tower, tracking the route of the ventilation ducts. They were now examining a room which provided the bulk of the tower's air conditioning.

"Here" Veshnar said, pointing to a small hole in one of the boiler rooms pipes. "The assassin gained access to the vents here – probably using a sheet of plasmite to force entry, see the scarring?" The two Jedi, young and old, both looked into the tiny hole in a metal tube which disappeared up into the ceiling.

"He must be _really_ small." Vima said "I can't believe you get assassins of such tiny proportions." Veshnar smiled.

"Well, obviously our assassin was perfectly suited to this mission because of his size, not in spite of it. We know how they gained access to Bilik, and how they assassinated him. All that remains is who they are and how they got in and out of the building undetected." Veshnar paused and thought carefully about potential escape exits. The two Jedi came to the same conclusion at the same time.

"Sewers" they said simultaneously. Sure enough, closer inspection of the boiler room floor revealed an open grate to a sewage tunnel below. This passage was large enough for both Jedi to travel down and so they did so, penetrating deeper in the heart of Caston.

Through several tunnels later, the two Jedi had found the security measures put up by the Kyborg towers security force – a large metal grate to keep animal and intruder out of the sewer systems beneath the building. Once again, a small hole had been burned with plasmite from the other side.

"Stand back padawan" Veshnar said and drew his emerald lightsabre, cutting a larger hole in the sheet metal so they could both pass through. From here they travelled for a long time through a labyrinth of sewers, only the force guiding them through the darkness. Eventually, pressed up against a slimy, scum covered wall the Jedi saw the end of their journey. Here in the dark grey, putrid caverns of Dengkow's sewers a small community had formed on an island between two rivers of effluence. And it was small in more ways than one. The buildings were rushed, nocked together junk affairs made from whatever came to hand in the sewers during construction. The many tiny buildings made of rusted metal and rotten wood were far too small to comfortably house a human sized person so Veshnar and Vima shared a look.

"Alright young Padawan, this looks promising. It's certainly small enough for our killer to live here and perfectly explains why he wanted us to think he'd gone in and out of the window. I doubt anyone other than a Jedi could have found this place anyway, so he was simply covering his back. Let's do this quickly. Is this a Gand village?"

"No master, Gand live in full blown nests. If I had to take a guess, I'd say we could be dealing with a Chadra-Fan community." The two Jedi walked into the cramped village, causing virtually its entire population to empty onto the "streets" and gaze at the two giant interlopers. They were, just as Aron guessed, Chadra-Fan, the tiny, mouse like creatures who populated many a dingy bar, struggling to escape the common assumption that they were anything more than vermin. The assembled crowds of the diminutive creatures stared with fear and apprehension at the two Jedi, fearful as Veshnar raised his voice.

"Everybody calm down, we are Jedi Knights and we mean you no harm. We have reason to believe that an assassin we're chasing may have passed through your village. If anyone can provide any insight into where he went, please…"

"There's no need for that Jedi" a shrill voice whistled, "I will come quietly". The two Jedi turned in surprise to see an elderly Chadra-Fan walking towards them, long thin needle in the palm of his hand.

"I suppose I should at least tell you that it wasn't just about the money" the little Chadra-Fan said, having brought Veshnar and Vima to a larger dwelling on the highest point of the artificial island and served them drinks "I did what I did because this community needed me to do something. Hard credits are the only thing that can keep the Gand at bay."

"Wait, Gand? Your colony is under threat from Gand?" Veshnar asked, sipping at the drink gingerly at first for fear of poison. It was clean.

"I'm afraid so. We have been treated badly by the regular population of Caston on the surface so we established a settlement here. It's dank and miserable and there's a constant fear of drowning so in many ways it's just like our home world. We moved to nice arid Caston to get away from the water, and now look at us! Treated like rats." Vima and Veshnar shared a look. This was not panning out as Aron had thought it would. He was expecting a chase and possibly a shootout, not a conversation with the most depressed assassin in the galaxy.

"Could we get to the Gand please?" he asked impatiently. The little Chadra-Fan nodded. He stood less than a metre high, his squeaking language high and shrill and his thick, mousy hair was flecked with grey – the sure sign of old age.

"My name is Toolarith and I am indeed the murderer of Senator Bilik. I did it so that the money I received could pay off a nest of Gand who are living in the sewers with us – they have been pressuring us for credits for six months now. It is not a good reason to kill somebody and Bilik did nothing to me but there it is. I never expected anyone to follow me after my clever little vacuum sheet idea but I guess I underestimated the Jedi .Take me away then." Both Jedi were dumbfounded.

"So, that's it?" Aron asked, "That's the reason you killed him? A nest of violent Gand threatens your community here so to put some money together you kill a high profile politician? How do you know how to kill people anyway?" Toolarith merely shrugged.

"I have a military back ground. I know how to use my size to my advantage. What more can I say? My species is always underestimated by larger peoples."

"Well, regardless of your intentions and method, an innocent man is dead and the whole of Caston is in uproar" Veshnar said. "In order for you to avoid considerable difficulties for yourself and your village I strongly suggest you co-operate with us. Who hired you? Do you know why you were paid to kill Bilik? What was the goal of the assassination?" Toolarith sadly shook his head.

"My employer is the only bargaining chip I have. If you deal with the Gand who oppress this little village then I will tell you everything I know." From that moment on, Toolarith clammed up.

"So we have to stop these Gand from hassling your village and we find out what we want to know?" Veshnar said.

"What do we do Master?" Aron asked.

"I'd deal with the Gand," said Master Mira Ordo, battle master of the Jedi, walking into the humble house in the sewer.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Merlon was a human Jedi Knight, young and inexperienced. His padawan was a Miraluku male, a mere five years younger than him called Rocanza Jett. The two had been old friends studying at the academy and so Merlon had offered to complete Jett's training when his previous Jedi Master died of old age. The two Jedi made a good team, their familiarity with one another allowing excellent reasoning skills and use of the force between the two of them, and Merlon was confident that within a matter of weeks Jett would be ready for the trials. Their most recent success had been dealing with several slaving ships in the Mirgoshir system, a mission which had ended with all of the slavers dead or captured and several hundred grateful slaves being released into Republic space. Now the two Jedi had been sent to Zerkappa, a toxic water world home of several noxious manufacturing plants and a few seedy bars found on raised platforms above the water. The Jedi had been called in because a local manufacturer of high standing on Zerkappa had reported that one of his son's had been kidnapped. Merlon was especially interested in the case because the victim was a distant relative from Alderaan.

"Well old friend," Merlon said with a flourish, "I think with the shipping invoice we got from that overseer we can pin point which cargo cylinder the victim has been locked in." Rocanza nodded approvingly.

"A stroke of genius by the way using shipment tracking to locate our target Merlon, pure genius." The two friends smiled at one another. As they spoke they had walked down a back alley behind one of Zerkappa's countless shady bars where workmen went to drown their sorrows in Juma Juice and Pazaak, the last of the day's light disappearing on a smog choked horizon. Merlon's communicator buzzed in alarm. He checked it.

"What is it?" said Jett.

"It's… it's a warning to us from Master Vodnick. He says that Republic Intel has revealed a bounty on our heads." Both Jedi looked at one another in stunned silence.

"Does it say why?"

"The Master claims it has something to do with all the Jedi who took down the Red Moon slaving group – which includes us. He advises us to stay off Hutt controlled worlds where the Republic cannot protect us."

"But Zerkappa is a Hutt world!" Jett said with panic. Merlon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I need to think about this. I'd really like to finish the mission before we have to lie low for a while. We're Jedi, after all." Jett seemed unconvinced.

"Well, alright but we should finish up here fast before…"

"Hello Jedis" a sibilant Duros voice sounded out in the alleyway. It belonged to a skinny, grey Duros in light combat gear, hefting a heavy blaster rifle. He was flanked by four other Duros in similar garb. "I understand that you have something of a price on your head, yes? And whether alive or dead, we still get the money yes? Do you understand why coming quietly with us might be a good idea? The Zhug brothers always get what they want" Merlon and Jett looked at each other and then back at the Duros.

"What if we refuse to go with you?" Merlon said simply. The Duros spat out a small laugh.

"This is not something hard to imagine I'm afraid. And we have dealt with Jedi before." The two Jedi felt the warning of the force and glanced over their shoulders. Behind them, blocking the alley was another four Duros, armed and armoured for combat.

"Now, will you come quietly? Or will we have to resort to violence?" The two Jedi turned to each other and nodded simultaneously. In an instant they both drew their lightsabres, blue for Merlon, yellow for Jett and effortlessly deflected the first wave of blaster bolts. Merlon felt the will within him and force jumped through the air, cutting it like a knife. He landed at the back of the lead Duro's group and cut down the nearest Zhug brother. Behind him, Jett dive rolled towards the party of four who cut off the alley, cutting off a spindly grey leg as he did so. Merlon whirled his lightsabre around like a whip and sliced another Duros in half before deflecting another volley of crimson blaster bolts. One of these bolts hit another Duros in the head and faster than should be possible, Merlon leapt up and decapitated the leader of the Zhug brothers. Rising from his roll, Jett impaled a Duros who got too close in the abdomen and kicked the Duros whose leg he'd just cut off in the face. A Duros to his left actually managed to grapple him, so he improvised an unpleasant head-butt right in the unfortunate Zhug Brother's face. The remaining Duros near Merlon made a last ditch effort to save himself and fired randomly at the Jedi Knight so close to him. Merlon deflected them all but with far more difficulty at such close quarters. He moved to close on the Duros and felt a flash of danger from the force but it was too late. A tremendously powerful blaster bolt which came out of the blue, struck Merlon in the temple, literally burning through his brain. His body was flung ten feet away from the fight.

"NO!" Jett screamed in anguish as he felt his Master and friend become one with the force. Summoning fresh strength he head-butted the Duros who was grappling him again, this time breaking his hold and slashed him apart. He quickly butchered the last Duros at his end of the alley. The last surviving Duros looked at Jett with a grimace and took aim with his rifle but before he could squeeze off a shot a second, powerful blaster bolt hit him in the bulbous head, decimating his brain. 800 feet away on an overlooking roof, Biting Wind the Verpine marksman re-cocked his sniper rifle.

Jett screamed with rage at the sight of his dead friend and raised his lightsabre in defiance at his unseen assailant. Down Biting Wind's scope, the blind Miraluku's face came into view and the insect assassin squeezed his polished trigger. The young Miraluku just barely managed to deflect the shot, getting his lightsabre up to his body in the nick of time.

"Come on!" he shouted, baiting his attacker to fight. He simply dodged the next shot but unfortunately this took all of his concentration. From above a large missile was fired and blasted poor Rocanza Jett to bits. Biting wind looked up from is scope in surprise as a large gun metal drop ship hovered into view, a fat blue stripe painted on its side. On loud speaker, a hoarse, violent voice rang out across the devastated area of the brawl.

"The money's ours you freaky bug! Go home to your asteroid and cry!" Within, the three Quim brothers, all resplendent in Mandalorian Crusader armour, guffawed amongst themselves. Mex, the eldest was at the controls, flicking a switch on the keyboard and unleashing a volley of heavy blaster fire in Biting Wind's direction. The Verpine grabbed his rifle and dived for cover as the devastating barrage of red energy disintegrated his sniping shot. The Quim Boys' loud voices rang in his head but he couldn't understand them. His shell-shocked mind eventually pieced them together as:

"Try this one on for size!" Biting Wind peeked over the top of the building he was sheltered on. A chunky proton missile was arcing towards him at great speed. With all his strength he got up and literally threw himself from the roof, only his powerful, armoured insect legs preventing him from terrible injury from such a fall. Above him, the proton missile hit the roof and obliterated it, showering the streets with tonnes of lethal debris. Biting Wind flipped a button on his rifle and charged a blast to maximum heat. He then hefted the long barrelled sniper rifle around and pointed it at the Quim Boy's drop ship. To defend themselves, the half-Mandalorian trio launched another proton missile, which Biting Wind aimed at and fired on. His charged blaster bolt met the missile halfway through its intended flight path, it's heat capable of detonating it prematurely. The explosion threw up an enormous cloud of ash and fire, obscuring Biting Wind from the drop ship.

"Oh bug boy?" Mex of the Quim Boy's shouted through the speaker, "Where are you little insect? Come here!" Behind the drop ship, Biting Wind leapt from hiding and fired another fully charged shot. This one flew straight into the drop-ship's right engine. Mex shouted in delight at the apparently failure of this attack to cause damage.

"Ha! Nice try you useless…" and then his right engine exploded. Fillet the youngest Quim brother completely misjudged how much thruster the ship needed and the crippled drop-ship suddenly lurched into a tailspin, climbing higher into the sky instead of lower as the left engine was stretched to breaking point. Amidst the devastation, Biting Wind watched the drop-ship sky rocket with a smug look on his face. Once the drop-ship was clearly gone for good, Biting Wind wandered back over to the site of the battle and located the bodies of Merlon and Jett. He seized their lightsabres without remorse and examined them with an insect smile.

"Two down," he thought to himself, "four to go."

Veshnar and Vima gazed at the battle master of the Jedi in shock. Mira, to her credit, merely smiled.

"Hello boys. Don't worry; this has nothing to do with you or your investigation. All I did was follow your trail down here – have either of you come into contact with Xander Osti?" Both Jedi shook their heads slowly. Mira frowned. "Where could he be? Caston is his post, his planet to protect. He was ecstatic when he got the job, so where is he now?"

"I'm sorry we can't help you Master Ordo. We arrived and began an investigation in Osti's place because we were the nearest Jedi here. As you can see, we've located the killer but I'm unsure what our next move should be." Mira nodded approvingly.

"Outstanding work you two. You've all but solved this case in less than three days! But as I said, dealing with the Gand nest that threatens this village is probably the best way of getting the information out of this little one." Toolarith fixed Mira with a cold stare.

"I may be small to your eyes warrior, but do not patronise me."

"Apologies. We all know how dangerous you can be. Mordred, if I may, I am willing to help you with the Gand." Veshnar looked very pleased at the thought of working with a Master.

"That sounds like an excellent idea Master Ordo. Padawan, you shall remain here and ensure that Mr Toolarith here does not leave the vicinity. We shall ensure the Gand do not bother the village and retrieve the information peacefully."

"But Master, this was…"

"No arguments young one. We must move quickly. Toolarith does not leave your sight until we return. Come Master Ordo." Aron Vima was left speechless as his Master and the Silver haired Jedi battle master left Toolarith's shack and went hunting for the Gand.

"Your apprentice seemed a little… aggravated that you did not bring him with us" Mira ventured once they were out of hearing range of the shack. Veshnar merely shrugged.

"I want to mediate between the Gand and the Chadra-Fan myself. Aron will understand."

"Well then, I apologise for standing on his toes. I can leave…"

"No, no, of course not Master Ordo. We're both pleased you've taken such an interest in the case.

The two Jedi arrived at the centre of the subterranean village and beckoned to the dozens of Chadra-Fan still milling about suspiciously. Master Ordo spoke up.

"Attention villagers! We are going to commune with the Gand nest which has been causing you difficulties. Is there anyone here who can come with us to speak for the village as a whole?" There was much muttering from the community. Eventually a large (relatively speaking) Chadra-Fan stepped out from the crowd and spoke in the high pitched whistle language all Chadra-Fan use.

"Toolarith is our town elder and leader. He should be the one to speak with the Gand." Veshnar and Mira telepathic spoke for a few moments.

"Unfortunately, Toolarith is under our investigation" the battle master said to the large Chadra-Fan, "So he cannot come with us. Is there anyone else here with the authority to mediate with the Gand?" The large Chadra-Fan they originally spoke to raised his hand.

"Toolarith is my brother – I will speak for the village in his place."

"Excellent" said Mira, "We must move quickly." And so the three individuals moved off in the direction of the Gand nest.

Aron Vima sat at the door of Toolarith's shack, sulking as well as any teenager can. Toolarith himself hadn't moved from his chair since the other Jedi had left. He slowly turned a tiny head and squeaked "You are angry Iridonian? I thought the Jedi were always calm." Vima sighed.

"We're supposed to be. I'm not I guess. I try as hard as I can but all I ever get from Master Veshnar are platitudes and meditation techniques. When I was a little kid in the temple on Pikar, I always imagined my Master would be wise, exciting, fun… everything any padawan wants." Toolarith smiled.

"I suppose this red eyed Master of yours doesn't live up to those expectations?"

"That's an understatement. He's overly critical, expressionless and never expects anything out of me. That's the worst part: a master who expects too much is tough, but a Master who's constantly surprised when you show creativity? It's the most frustrating thing in the world." Toolarith looked at Vima with incredibly piercing eyes, causing the young Jedi to double take: a stare like that was a sure indicator of at least some force sensitivity. They were the eyes of a being perfectly capable of taking life and for the first time since meeting him, Aron saw the diminutive Toolarith for what he really was – an assassin through and through, willing to do absolutely anything to keep his loved ones safe.

"How many people have you killed?" Vima asked the tiny hit man.

"Several dozen" the Chadra-Fan said simply. "I was something of a mercenary before I settled down here. I thought one more job for the good of my village couldn't hurt. Apparently I was wrong. What about you Jedi? Are your hands clean of blood?" Aron looked down sullenly.

"No. I've killed three people with this lightsabre, all in self-defence. "Jedi" is a very dangerous occupation."

"Then we're not so different. Spare me your condescending eyes." Aron looked away from Toolarith quickly and the silence continued.

Knight Veshnar and Master Ordo meanwhile had already made progress with the Gand. Arriving at the nest, the two Jedi had spoken with a Gand representative and quickly made tracks to put the vicious insect swarm off attacking the Chadra-fan community when it became clear that the Gand did not have a nesting permit from Caston authorities. The Jedi simply threatened to inform the authorities of the nests presence and soon the usually stoic Gand were all too eager to agree not to attack. Toolarith's brother accepted peace terms from them quickly, holding the Gand's impending deportation as insurance against further attacks. The job done, Veshnar, Ordo and the tiny Chadra-Fan diplomat began navigating back through the sewers to the village. As they travelled it became clear to Mira that Veshnar was upset. She decided to speak up.

"Something on your mind Veshnar?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing really."

"Coming from any other Jedi I'd let that go Mordred but you're usually so stoic I have to push you. What's the matter?"

"It's… my padawan. I've just realised how badly I side-lined him on this mission. I told him earlier that this was our investigation, but as soon as I got the chance to work with a Master I dropped him at the nearest opportunity. A Jedi shouldn't do that to anyone, let alone a Knight to his padawan! I should be above such petty pride – I thought I_ was_… but I guess I'm not." Mira sighed deeply.

"Mordred, you're not the most perfect Jedi to travel the galaxy. If you can find a way to accept that simple fact, then you have the chance to train a good padawan. You set too high a standard for yourself, and not high enough for young Vima. Just think about that next time you're on a mission." The greyed haired battle Master clapped her companion on the back. Veshnar didn't look convinced.

"I'll have to make this up to him somehow Master Ordo – I know him well and something tells me he'll feel betrayed for this. I've failed him."

"Mordred, we all make mistakes. Even Master Vallo. When I first became a Jedi I was a hell raiser – I couldn't cope with all the restrictions and rules, I didn't like following orders and generally I was unscrupulous when a proper Jedi would be kind and generous. Do what you can to fix your relationship with young Aron but don't forget… you're only human. Sorry – Chiss." This brought a smile to Veshnar's face – rare in him.

"Thank you Master. That's kind. Ah, we're back at the village." And so they were. The small rows of hovels perched precariously over a torrent of effluence. Dozens of tiny Chadra-Fan residents gathered to watch and discover if peace had been made with the Gand. Toolarith's brother excitedly dashed towards his family and friends, spreading the word that the Gand incursions were over. This was met with much jubilation from the crowd and the ecstatic Chadra-Fan community led the Jedi back to Toolarith's hut. Aron walked out, a sullen look on his face, followed by an equally grumpy Toolarith, the two making for a very unhappy pair of faces.

"How did it go Masters?" Aron asked of the two Jedi before him.

"Very well padawan, the Gand will cease attacks or be thrown from the planet by Caston authorities," Mira curtly replied, "but now Toolarith has to uphold his end of the bargain. Toolarith?" The little assassin nodded.

"I was hired to kill senator Bilik on special request from a man calling himself the Rook. Rook contacted me and made a transfer of 20,000 credits into my account with a promise of another 20,000 once the job was done. He paid up shortly before you Jedi arrived and I have already spread the money around the village." The Jedi nodded. Obviously claiming the unlawful money at this point would seem a little harsh.

"Do you know where we can find this Rook?" Veshnar asked. Encouragingly, Toolarith nodded.

"He operates out of a space station on the borders of Hutt space. He's rich but my sources didn't claim he was dangerous. I always do a background check on my clients." Mira took control of the situation.

"Alright Toolarith, thank you for your co-operation. What's the space station called?"

"It's known as the _Cosmos Splinter"_. Mira quickly turned to Veshnar and Vima.

"The Cosmos splinter – start there. I'll deal with Toolarith." Veshnar blinked in surprise.

"You're not coming with us? We thought…"

"Mordred this is you and your Padawan's investigation. I won't get in the way." Aron spoke up now.

"But what about Master Osti? It should be his investigation!" Mira sighed.

"I haven't found any trace of him, and his Caston office claims they haven't seen him in three days – which was the last time the council heard from him either. I will keep looking here and ensure that Toolarith gets a fair trial." The two Jedi in front of her nodded solemnly. As they turned to leave, Toolarith himself spoke.

"You two take care of yourselves – the galaxy is a rough place." Veshnar paid no heed to this but Aron kept his eyes on the Chadra-Fan all the way out of the hut kept his thoughts on the tiny assassin all the way back to the Scarlet Shyrak and into hyperspace.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_37 years ago…_

Sweat poured from Mical's brow. He ineffectually tried to blow and errant blonde curl of hair out of his eyes. A soothing voice rang out.

"Concentrate Mical! If you're ready, I'll attack again." Mical's eyes widened in panic.

"No! Master, no! I can't stop you, I'm too tired to…"

"Nonsense Mical! Your aching muscles have nothing to do with your mind. You can fight me off even in these extreme circumstances!" Mical was standing with two feet on a narrow beam, suspended over a ravine some 60 feet deep. On outstretched arms, Mical carried two thick sacks, each weighing 150 pounds. In this precarious position, Mical was now trying to mentally fight off a psychic attack from Master Cy, who relentlessly battered at his mental defences. Over the last 9 months, Master Cy had been performing similar exercises with all members of the so called "lost Jedi", tailoring each lesson to each pupil. The ragged group of would-be Jedi were amazed to find that the aeons old Master Cy, goat legged though he may be, was not only an accomplished philosopher and scholar, but also a Master of the force and most surprising of all, a formidable warrior. Not one of the Jedi had been able to best him physically, intellectually or mentally.

"Excellent work Mical!" Master Cy shouted from the ridge of the ravine, "we'll make a true Master out of you yet!" Mical merely grunted from the exertion of protecting his mind from the brunt of Master Cy's attack. The worst part was a sick certainty that if the old Master really wanted to, he could tear down Mical's defences in an instant.

"Alright Mical, we're done for the day. Go clean up and I'll make soup for us both" Master Cy said kindly and leapt 20 feet in a single bound. In another bound he was gone. Mical gasped out loud as he carefully made his way back across the beam.

Back in Master Cy's hut, soup was already lain out when a freshly cleaned Mical walked through the door. He gratefully picked up a spoon and wolfed his way through three helpings of the tangy liquid as well as bread while Master Cy gingerly sipped at his bowl. He rarely ate much. After they had finished dinner, Mical cleared away bowls and utensils before sitting in one of the hut's only chairs. Master Cy joined him.

"You have questions?" he asked the young Jedi. Mical nodded.

"How have you got so good at manipulating the force Master?" Master Cy chuckled.

"Well, I've had an awful lot of practice," he said with a grin, "and I have an awful lot of patience. That's all there is to it." Mical shook his head.

"No Master, it's not just time and practice that makes you great. I know because there was a very old Jedi Master at my old enclave called Master Vandar, a Padawan of Peleiaz who you trained. I know he wasn't as old as you but I'm convinced that even the endless passage of time couldn't make him as powerful as you. You wouldn't have died at Visas' master's hand as easily as he did. What makes you different?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Very well. I'm a Gendra-kai." Mical frowned.

"What's a Gendra-kai?"

"It is the word, or title which my Master used to describe those touched with the force. Gendra-kai means – "chosen" or perhaps, "marked", since it is not necessarily a good thing." Mical looked surprised.

"Wait a minute… you had a Master?"

"Everyone has a Master at some point in their lives Mical. I'm no exception. He told me that the force can mark very special people for very special purposes. If they follow that purpose, the power they find along the way can be unlimited. I've met only a handful face to face but sensed a great many in all my centuries of meditation."

"Can you give me any examples?" Mical asked desperately. His Master smiled ruefully.

"Of course. Your first Master was a Gendra-kai. Until Malachor V she was simply a good leader but after it she mowed down whole armies on her own. It was the will of the force which guided and emboldened her. Revan was also a Gendra-kai, but he had it from birth. Neither of them have finished yet either." Mical started.

"The Exile is alive?!" Again, Master Cy just smiled.

"I never said that. Will you let me finish?." Mical nodded sullenly, barely able to keep still at the thought of his old Master living still. "Alright then. It's important to remember that Gendra-kai are not restricted to the Jedi. In fact, they're more common among those you call the Sith. In your travels with the exile you met Darth Traya and Darth Sion who were both Gendra-kai." Mical frowned at this.

"Wait, surely Visas' Master was Gendra-kai too? The power he wielded was beyond imagination." Master Cy sadly shook his head.

"The one you speak of was something else altogether. But I will tell no more of him. The Gendra-kai is the chance of greatness which the force gives to so few, but it is a terrible burden - fewer still ever truly utilise the gift."

"Master Cy… am I a Gendra-kai?" Mical asked. Master Cy gave him a piercing stare.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"No Mical, you are not. Perhaps, as a group you and your friends were once when you were part of the "Lost Jedi" but now you are realising your destiny it is gone." Mical slowly hung his head but Master Cy put a hand to the young Jedi's chin and made eye contact.

"You are free to do what you wish Mical, this is a good thing. Don't look so upset. You will be a great Master of the order someday, force destiny be damned." Mical gave a small smile.

"How can you be sure? How do I become a great Jedi Master without being a Gendra-kai?"

"Well for a start you can stop asking so many questions" Master Cy said with a grin. Master and apprentice both burst into laughter.

Vogga the Hut was relaxing in his palace on Nar Shaddaa on a rare occasion when he entertained guests. The evening was already kicking off and people were already milling into the central hall where a party was about to begin. Later tonight, Vogga would meet with his sister Barlo for the first time in 10 years to discuss a truce and call an end to the unprofitable animosity which had existed between the two for all that time. They would talk, relax in each other's company and heal some family wounds. Of course this was nonsense. Vogga loathed his sister and the feeling was mutual, but the wily old Hutt needed more support amongst the Hutts in general and gaining his sisters support (or at least limiting the damage she could do to him) was worth the loss of face in the situation. This hasty party on Barlo's behalf was planned just a day in advance because less than 24 hours ago, Vogga had received a holographic message from his would-be ally Admiral Nova:

"Yes Admiral what is it? I'm trying to sleep." A grouchy Vogga had said when Mossa brought the datapad.

"You treacherous little slug! Damn your eyes!" a furious voice sounded out of the datapad, and Admiral Nova's seething face appeared. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? I was just informed by the admiralty board that a new Grand Admiral won't be chosen until the furore surrounding Senator Bilik's** ASSASSINATION **has calmed down. His assassination! So you thought you could blindside me with the possibility of a promotion while you destroyed Caston's stability? You're dead worm!" Vogga was aghast.

"You think that was me? I had nothing to do with it whatsoever! I swear I have no idea how the miserable old fool died." Nova was having none of it.

"How could I have even considered working with you? You stab me in the back the moment you see fit to. You will not have Caston I swear it. I don't know what you've got planned but Admiral Nova will not sit on his hands while a scum ridden Hutt tries to impeach upon the Republic's security!" Vogga was now in a temper enough to rival Nova's.

"You will do as I command Nova! You will do everything you agreed to and if you don't, I'll make it clear to the right elements that a Republic Admiral enlisted the help of a Hutt crime lord to remove his superior by assassination just to gain a promotion!" Now Nova snorted with derision.

"Go ahead! Torch my career. See to it that I receive life imprisonment for being a traitor. It'll be the last thing you ever do." Vogga sneered.

"Oh yes? How do you figure that my dear ADMIRAL Nova? Will I choke to death on the grief of not seeing you ever again?" Nova treated Vogga to a slow, dangerous smile.

"No Vogga. I'll simply inform the… what did you call them? Oh yes, the "right elements" that when you signed the treaty of Fondor you bribed the Supreme Chancellor in secret to make you the exclusive diplomatic head of the Hutt's, ensuring that whenever the Republic was involved, you had to be the Hutt who spoke to them. I knew you couldn't stay on top of everyone with guile alone!" Vogga's face paled. He had indeed made sure in the treaty that he would receive preferential treatment from the Republic. If it ever got out that this was where Vogga originally recouped his losses from the Goto debacle, not mention where he became a true power amongst the Hutt's, every crime lord, career criminal and lowlife would be gunning for him.

"How… how did you know that? Where did you find that information?!" Vogga spluttered desperately."

"We all have our sources _my dear Vogga," _Nova sneered, "So if I go to prison then I can assure you that not long after the rest of the Hutts will hunt you down and cut you into little strips of meat to be thrown to those ghastly Kath hounds of yours. Goodbye Vogga. It's over. If you or the rest of those criminal scum step a toe out of line, I'll blast Nar Shaddaa to dust. Never contact me again." And the communicator had gone completely dead. A day later, Vogga had called a truce with his sister and now the Hutt lords gathered in Vogga's resplendent palace.

As the evening progressed, hundreds of revellers from the criminal classes streamed into the spacious hall, while Vogga, his sister and several others met in a glossy meeting room filled with guards – four for each crimelord as agreed upon. Vogga sat at a circular table with two Trandoshans, a Gran Thug and a Wookiee slave flanking him. Eventually he was joined by Barlo the Hutt and her escort to his left, Membo the Hutt and his guards to his right, Quidliss the Quarren (leader of the Exchange) across from him with a compliment of battle droids and Etta the Toydarian drug runner hovering nervously amongst his guards in the corner of the room. The combined wealth and power of these five shady characters dwarfed any other criminal element in the galaxy and even challenged the Republic itself. Vogga cleared his flabby throat.

"Etta? Would you kindly be seated?" The Toydarian started at being addressed by name and hovered over to the round table. As a rule the old drug runner was constantly on edge and he actually winced when his wings stopped beating and he slumped into his chair. The polar opposite of Etta was Membo who looked like he would fall asleep within moments if the meeting didn't get underway. Barlo seethed with barely supressed hatred for her brother and Quidliss was completely neutral as he surveyed the other members of the group.

"Thank you Etta," Vogga said politely and cleared his throat again, "I've brought you here to discuss a situation which has arisen on Caston," he began. Membo interrupted.

"You brought us all the way up here from Nal Hutta to tell us you've stirred up the hornets' nest with that little assassination of yours Vogga?" the colossal slug asked dryly.

"On the contrary Membo – I was about to accuse you of stirring that particular nest. Was it your assassin?" Membo groaned and gestured one of his guards to start fanning him – talking is such an effort.

"No dear Vogga, it wasn't my order at all. Barlo? Quidliss? Did either of you order that ridiculous Twilek's death on Caston?" In turn both crime lords shook their heads.

"It wasn't anything to do with me. Or anyone beneath me" Barlo snarled.

"Likewise I assure you," Quidliss the Quarren said calmly, "perhaps Etta felt that Senator Bilik's death would increase his own business?" The Toydarian looked panic stricken, as ever.

"It wasn't m-m-me either. I've had nothing to do with C-C-Caston since you signed that d-d-damn Fondorian treaty Vogga!" Vogga took a moment to sneer at Etta's stutter before continuing on.

"Well, whoever it was, an awful lot of hostility will now be directed firmly at us – we are clearly the main suspects."

"Tosh Vogga," Membo said, "perhaps it was just an act of passion. A spurned lover perhaps, goodness knows what these people get so excited about." Vogga solemnly shook his fat head.

"I'm afraid not – it was a professional hit. There's a rumour going round that Jedi investigators have already arrested a professional bounty hunter."

"Well damn them all. Why should we care what they think or _suppose_? It has no bearing on us. I don't care if they hate me, so long as they obey me. I highly doubt the Republic will attack us or start a war over one minor assassination." Vogga sighed at Membo's outburst.

"Unfortunately for all of us, within the Republic Navy there is an… unstable element. An Admiral by the name of Nova will cause severe problems for us. My Intel tells me that he will be actively searching for a reason to go to war – he may even make one up for all we know." Barlo the Hutt was immediately suspicious.

"Why would he have it in for us? Is it something you did Vogga? Have you got us into a full blown war now?" Vogga put up two placating hands.

"I believe that Nova was infuriated by the assassination of Grand Admiral Quasar," Vogga skilfully lied, "another murder which I had no part in. Obviously he is now on the offensive and for all our sakes I ask each of you to relax operations for the time being. No high profile hits, no big pay-offs or scores. Can I expect you all to do that?" Barlo the Hutt shifted on her lounger.

"I'm loathe to put aside hard credits simply at your say so Vogga" the Hutt said with a snarl, "and let's not forget this ridiculous bounty on Jedi you've posted." Vogga was equally vicious with his retort.

"And perhaps I'm loathe to give you access to my freighters until you get in line!" he barked. This was where Vogga always showed his hand. Each of the five crime lords had a speciality which they focused on, an unspoken agreement formed from each simply playing to their strengths. Barlo the Hutt was nicknamed "Queen of the Slaves" due to her near galactic wide monopoly on the slave trade. Etta the Toydarian owned virtually every gram of illegal spice in Republic space. Quidliss of the Exchange had mastered the weapons development and droid manufacturing markets throughout countless star systems. And Membo the Hutt was the biggest mercenary employer in Republic history. If he wanted he could field a vast and terrible army of mercenaries that put all other criminal gangs to shame. But the reason Vogga had always been and still was the unofficial leader of the Hutt's was his ships. Vogga commanded shipping throughout most of expanded Hutt space. At his say so, half the freighters and shuttles in the galaxy would grind to a stop and the money would stop coming in. If that ever happened, every person around the table would be in mortal danger from disgruntled employees, irate dealers with nowhere for their merchandise to go and almost every other criminal who fancied a cut of the pie before it collapsed. Trade was everything and Vogga controlled all of it.

"The Jedi bounty is unconnected to this. It's a personal matter you need not concern yourselves with. So, are we clear?" Vogga asked the stone-faced gathering of criminals. There was a silent nod of agreement around the room – most had been too infuriated to speak by Vogga's threat. As soon as Vogga nodded in turn the furious crime lords left the meeting room one by one. Vogga was unlikely to see them again very soon. The great Hutt slouched back on his dais, relief evident on his face. The task was done. For the moment, the Hutt's would do nothing to antagonise the Republic, especially Nova, giving him time to get rid of the rogue Admiral before he started a war. But perhaps just as important, Vogga also knew that he should find out who really did order the hit on Bilik, and when he did he'd… do what the Hutt's do best.

Once again, Veshnar and Vima sat on the bridge of the Scarlet Shyrak but the awkward silence of before was gone, replaced with Vima's excited chatter as he pawed at the ships computer.

"Master, there's a lot of information about the Cosmos Splinter in the archives here. I can even access blue prints from its construction!"

"I take it that it's a criminal space station?" Veshnar said. Vima nodded.

"Oh yes. Construction was paid for by the Hutts, they wanted a place to do business deals away from the prying eyes of other Hutt's – that's the benefit of a station rather than a colony. The homicide rate is through the roof so you should really think of it as a brand new Nar Shaddaa in space. Population 100,000."

"What can you tell me about Rook?" the blue Chiss asked. Vima frowned.

"Not an awful lot. He's some sort of money lender I believe and by Hutt space standards he's not particularly dangerous. I've got a few reports of assaults by men under his employ for non-payment of debts but that's small fry compared with most criminals. He keeps himself to himself and has done steady business since he arrived on the Splinter ten years ago. Before that I can't find any trace of him."

"He's still a career criminal my young Padawan. Still, if he's not typically a heavy hitter than we can assume he got his orders from someone higher up the chain. It must have been a Hutt. Look to who benefits from a murder and you will find the culprit." Aron Vima frowned at this.

"But how do the Hutt's benefit exactly? I understand that Caston represents the control the Republic still wields over the Hutts after the treaty of Fondor and all that but civil unrest in Caston won't make it a part of the Hutt's empire. Would they do it out of pure hatred for the Republic? I know the Hutt's are wicked but they never make a decision that's bad for business. Something doesn't feel right about any of this."

"You may be right Padawan," Veshnar said sagely, "It doesn't sound like the Hutt's to hire such an unlikely hit man either. And for that matter, if unrest on Caston was the overall goal, why go to such trouble to conceal it with a hit man who specialises in "accidental" deaths?" Both Jedi paused and thought. Veshnar eventually sat up.

"Padawan, let's look at it this way: what has Bilik's assassination accomplished?" Vima thought about this.

"Well, I've had a look at current Caston events and apparently there has been some rioting in inner city areas. But the whole planet is covered in Republic soldiers, the government can't topple with such a strong military presence. As far as I can tell it hasn't achieved anything beyond minor civil unrest."

"And yet for this seemingly arbitrary objective, this Rook fellow paid an assassin 40,000 credits to do the job. Why? The force has been telling us this case is more complicated than a vengeful Hutt out for revenge all along. Anyway, I'm going to report to the council before we reach the cosmos splinter." Veshnar pressed several buttons on the bridge controls and was quickly linked into the Council network. Almost immediately, Master Atton Rand's face appeared. He did not look happy.

"Where the hell have you two been?!" the hologram of the Jedi Master shouted at them furiously, "you're in grave danger! The Hutt's have put a hit out on the Jedi who took down the Red Moon slaving operation which includes you two! Return to Pikar immediately." Master and apprentice stared at one another incredulously.

"But, we were with Master Ordo just a few hours ago, she didn't mention anything about a bounty!" Veshnar said. Atton rolled his eyes.

" That's because she, like you, neglects her communicator constantly, and I'm still not in contact with her. Did you meet her on Caston? And what about your investigation?" Aron spoke up.

"We've all but cracked the case Master Rand!" he said with typical eagerness. "We found the hit man who did the assassination in the sewers of Caston and Master Ordo has him in custody now. He claims he was hired by a man named Rook who works out of the space station known as the Cosmos Splinter, so we're on our way now to…"

"That's in Hutt space!" Atton spat furiously, "You can't go there, that's ground zero for bounty hunters out for blood. Vima, I expected this brashness from you but… oh what am I saying. Would you listen to me? I sound like Mical!" Aron and Veshnar shared a look.

"Master Rand" Veshnar began, "we have a concrete lead to this Rook character and the council and yourself did say you wanted this solved as soon as possible to quell unrest on Caston. If you would permit us to make a quick trip to the Cosmos Splinter, incognito might I add, then we can bring back hard evidence about this Rook gentlemen and whoever he answers to." Atton still wasn't convinced.

"He's probably aware that you're after him by now. He'll be a thousand light years away by the time you reach the station." Aron couldn't contain his excitement and jumped in here.

"But that's the beauty of it!" he barked with glee, "even if Rook is gone and has erased every file he ever used, the whole station will still know things about him – where he might be going, his business on the Splinter, who worked for him and most importantly, who he might answer to. If we start asking around we'll soon have all the information we need – there's always somebody willing to make some easy creds or a terminal to hack which can help us, especially on a crime ridden dump like the Splinter. It is, after all, like Nar Shaddaa adrift in space." Atton leant back from the hologram, clearly impressed and Veshnar smiled proudly at his young charge. Atton put a hand on his chin and thought long and hard. He was sure that any other member of the council would have sent these two straight home, regardless of the strength of their investigation but Atton was pleased with the two detective Jedi. Especially Mordred Veshnar, a Chiss whom Atton had always thought of as a by-the-book stooge until now. He let out a slow breath.

"Alright. Alright. You've got twenty four hours to dig up something juicy and reliable on this Rook guy, and you have to do it _quietly._ After that, I'm coming to escort you back to the temple personally."

"Thank you Master!" Aron gushed dramatically. Veshnar merely diplomatically lowered his head in thanks to the hologram. Atton waved a hand.

"Good luck you two. Don't forget – twenty four hours. May the force be with you."

"And also with you Master" the two Jedi said in unison and the hologram of Master Rand switched off. Master and apprentice spent an hour discussing who they would interrogate or bribe first and the time passed well until sure enough, the Cosmos Splinter came into view, a hideous grey barb of a space station, covered with aerials, dropships, fuel lines and nowhere near enough windows. It hung in space uneasily, a fat cockroach slowly turning in its own filthy smog, covered in ticks and decay, its flesh alive with the stench of desperate living. It could indeed be described as a splinter – but only if said splinter had been buried in somebody's skin for so long flesh and barb alike had begun to rot. The Scarlet Shyrak, pathetically small in the face of such a monstrosity, edged toward a docking port whilst on board, Aron and Mordred prepared robes to cover themselves and hide their identity. Aron quickly recalibrated the Scarlet Shyraks ship ID and smiled at the thought of finally finding out who was behind the assassination of Senator Bilik. He hadn't felt so optimistic in a long time.

Which was a shame because at that very moment the Cosmos Splinter exploded.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_35 Years ago…_

Master Cy watched Mical as he levitated on the grassy plane. All around the blonde Jedi, rocks flew at great speeds, testament to his impressive telekinetic abilities. The ancient Jedi nodded to himself, satisfied, and walked over to his erstwhile student.

"Mical. It is time." Mical turned to look at his Master, a frown on his face.

"Time for what Master Cy?"

"Time for your training to end. You are now prepared to teach students of your own – all your colleagues are. I can do no more for you." Mical slowly nodded and got to his feet.

"Is it still useless for me to persuade you to join us on the council? You'd make an excellent Grandmaster." Master Cy shook his head.

"I don't think I'd be as good as you think Mical and besides… your order already has a Grandmaster. You." Mical didn't look convinced. The blonde Jedi turned to the vast open field which stretched out in front of them and breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with cool, fresh air.

"Master, please, if we are to leave you at long last and found our order proper, can you answer just a few more questions? Please Master?"

"Hmm. Well, since you asked so nicely. Ask and I shall answer. I will tell you all the truths which I think you can safely handle."

"What does that mean? You won't tell me the whole truth?"

"It means that there are certain things within the galaxy about which you cannot know. And if you did know them then they would drive you to distraction." Mical let out an exasperated sigh.

"Master please! For five years I've listened to your cryptic words. On the eve of our parting, please, please, please answer my questions!" Master Cy thought about this.

"Alright," he said at length, "alright. You want answers, I will give you them. Ask me three questions and I will answer you truthfully, no mysticism, no mystery. Three questions alone mind you." Mical's face lit up. "Go on then. Ask your first question." Mical suddenly lapsed into silence as he pondered the implications of just three questions that he could get answers to. He was silent for several minutes before he finally spoke up.

"Alright Master Cy, my first question is… where is the exile? No, wait, forget that. Is the exile safe? That's more important. Is she alive.?

"Mical, I've warned you about wearing your emotions on your sleeves. Your first question was about the exile – what does that tell me? In your own way you love her don't you?" Mical remained stony faced.

"You haven't answered my question yet. You said you would. Is she safe?"

"She is. She walks with Revan, and is now even more powerful than before. There is little that can stand against her. But you already knew that didn't you Mical? You knew that she followed Revan this time because part of her always regretted not following him after Malachor. It wasn't fear of becoming a Sith but guilt which made her the exile. Now she finally journey's with her old commander, and the force lights up wherever they go." Mical was, in spite of himself, grinning from ear to ear, a single tear slowly creeping down his cheek.

"Thank you Master. Where…"

"A word of warning. Ask me where and you will have only one question left. And even if you knew where she was, you cannot go to her, she is beyond your reach." Mical looked down, chastened.

"Alright. My second question is… what was Visas' master? The Sith Lord known as Nihilus?" Master Cy took a breath.

"A better question. Gather your colleagues, I would tell you all the tale." Mical hurriedly returned to the crude wooden training ground that he and the other lost Jedi had built to train in and called out for his fellow Jedi. Atton came first, then Visas, Brianna, Mira and Bao-Dur bringing up the rear.

"What's the matter Mical?" Visas asked, concern plain in her voice. Mical gasped as he got his breath back.

"Master Cy says that our training is over, but before we go we can ask him three questions. I asked him about your old Master Visas and I think you're going to want to hear what he has to say. We all will."

The six lost Jedi sat in a semi-circle around a fire, watching the sun slowly die and fade on the horizon. No one was at ease however, despite the camp like atmosphere, least of all Visas who was waiting on answers that she had longed for for nearly ten years. Master Cy arrived and sat down on the opposite side of the semi-circle, theatrically clearing his throat as he did so.

"I'm sure Mical has already told you why you are gathered here – your training is complete and you deserve some answers. I think perhaps knowledge of one of your greatest enemies would be an appropriate farewell present."

"Nihilus" Visas whispered almost reverentially. Master Cy nodded.

"Of all the adventures you have described during your time with the Exile, it was facing off against Visas' old Master above Telos that I found the most compelling. I have lived for a very long time and even I cannot say with any certainty what he was. All that I tell you now I learned from visions gifted to me by the force." The whole group waited on Master Cy with baited breath. Master Cy smiled at their impatience. "Let me tell you the story… of Darth Nihilus."

_Present Day_

Farleth arched his back as he struggled to get comfortable in the chair. The tall, slender Devaronian wore his Mandalorian armour with pride and the deep purple sash of the Gaping Maw with wicked glee. He enjoyed the looks he got with that sash around his waist. Law enforcement, civilians, criminals and even common scum – all knew the symbol of the most fearsome mercenary band in the galaxy and all feared him because of it. Farleth always enjoyed the look of fright on people's faces as he walked past – when he was a boy on his home planet of Deveron he had always been small for his age and the local louts had always made fun of his puny horns but now he got respect everywhere he went. He was still self-conscious about his body – even though he was now well over six feet tall he had never filled out like typical males of his kind so he covered himself from toes to neck in Mandalorian armour, leaving only his head free to show off some thankfully enormous horns that came when he hit puberty. Farleth was now the number three within the ranks of the Gaping Maw, a feat achieved with an entire career of hurting people very badly and Farleth didn't regret a moment of it. All he regretted now was that he was not number two. Villssk was Villssk and the thought that anyone could challenge him for the leadership of the Maw was clearly ridiculous but Ragath… the wily Barabel may be vicious with a blade but he was getting old and he wouldn't be Villssk's favourite forever. Farleth hoped that this bounty he was about to collect would be enough to prove that it was he, not the doddering Ragath, who deserved to be Villssk's right hand man.

To the untrained eye, it would seem that Farleth was alone in the docking lounge, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of mid-day travel. However, hidden away on either sides of the room were half a dozen of the Gaping Maw, all ready and willing to seize the two Jedi about to dock. This was the information that Farleth had uncovered but neglected to tell Ragath – the location of two more Jedi. Biting Wind, the freakish Verpine marksman had already claimed two lightsabres, which only left four – and Farleth was going to get a pair for himself. His personal communicator beeped and he examined it. It was Lunbacca, his wizened old friend – an ancient and bad tempered Wookiee coming to the end of his life. Lunbacca was in the communications room, standing as lookout for the Jedi and if he was calling at this critical time… it could only mean one thing.

"Yes Lunbacca? Is it them?" Farleth said, answering his communicator.

"Just remind me of the name of the ship Farleth, just to be sure." Farleth sighed and checked a datapad.

"We're looking for a ship called the _Winged Katarn_. Has it arrived?" There was a pause as Lunbacca punched a few buttons on a computer.

"Yes, Winged Katarn, coming into docking bay THX-133 04. Go get them boss." Farleth grinned and shut down his communicator. His men tensed around him. Farleth was prepared and ready to take Aron Vima and Mordred Veshnar captive. So it was a shame that at that moment the _Cosmos Splinter _exploded and Farleth, Lunbacca, his whole team and everyone else on the space station was incinerated.

Aron Vima swam through darkness. All about him were the cries of a thousand voices, screaming in agony, over and over again in his head. He couldn't stand it – he thrashed violently but found he couldn't move so instead he cried out, anything to release some of the fear and pain that the force was pushing into his head. In this hazy state Aron struggled to think rationally but he knew that the Cosmos splinter had exploded. With a population of 100,000 people on board and the strength of what he was feeling right now, he had to assume that every one of them had died and he could not cope with their loss. The Splinter was populated primarily by the criminal elements but there were still innocents who had died and that, Aron Vima couldn't forget. Hours seemed to pass. Eventually the fog slowly began to clear but he still felt sluggish and unfocused and more importantly, he still couldn't move. He realised that he was upright but bound – he was strapped to a metal table on a hinge, capable of standing horizontally or vertically and all around him were crates and boxes. He appeared to be locked in a cargo hold, but not the Winged Katarn's and, he realised with a jolt, he had an IV in his arm. He tried to summon the force but couldn't find the willpower and assumed that he was being drugged. Now he started to get alarmed. Suddenly a door opened at the front of the cargo hold and a skinny human male stepped out, dressed in a garish yellow combat suit. He had lank, greasy dark hair down to his shoulders, a blaster pistol on his hip and a baby blue visor over his eyes. When he saw Aron was awake he noticeably did a double take.

"Whoa, you're conscious? Damn it, I really got screwed over on that venom." The man in yellow walked over to Aron and leant down to attend to the drip in the Zabrak's left arm. "You know, I was really nervous about collecting a bounty on a Jedi, but you've been quiet as a mouse. Looks like old Filcher will be getting his 40K after all."

"Wh- what?" Aron said, still disorientated and confused. "You're a bounty hunter?" The man in yellow nodded enthusiastically.

"I sure am, and don't let anyone else tell you I'm a bounty poacher, that's hurtful. The rules of the game never matter when credits are involved." Aron didn't understand any of this so he just murmured, feeling the drowsiness increase as the man upped his dose.

"There we are," he continued, "now you just get a couple more hours shut eye before we get to Nar Shaddaa." Aron forced himself to speak again.

"We're going to Nar Shaddaa? Why?" The man in yellow sighed.

"We're going to Nar Shaddaa because that's where the bounty was posted. This isn't hyperdrive science. You are going to make me a rich man. Well, you're going to pay off my gambling debts first and then make me a moderately wealthy man, but you know what I mean."

"I thought… the bounty… was just for our lightsabres." Aron forced out of his mouth with effort. The man in yellow chuckled.

"What, this old thing?" he pulled out Aron's lightsabre from a pocket. "Actually that's just a turn of phrase. When the bounty said _we want their lightsabres_, it actually just meant kill you. But I'm smarter than that. Sure, I could up this dose of neural pacifying venom by ten and you'd be dead in 60 seconds, but then I'd be the target for retribution by a whole galaxy of angry Jedi. Not smart. Instead, I'm just going to deliver you to the bounty officer and let them kill you. To the Jedi, I'll just be a glorified delivery boy – beneath their notice."

"That's ridiculous. They'll still come after you! Letting me go right now is the only way you can walk away from this. And… wait, how did you get me here?"

"You Jedi are always stirring up trouble. As soon as I got a tip off that a couple of them Gaping Maw thugs were hanging around the Cosmos Splinter I hightailed it over here and BANG! The whole ruddy station blows up. I've never seen anything like it. Anyway, I found that ship of yours badly damaged from the blast, boarded it and grabbed ya." Aron frowned.

"What about Master Veshnar? Why isn't he here?" The man in yellow let out another bark of a laugh, showing a set of ugly yellow teeth.

"I told you boy, I'm smart. I know my limits. One unarmed and drugged padawan? No problem. One padawan and a fully trained Jedi Knight in my cargo hold? Not easy, and the punishment for failure is… severe. So why bother? Besides, I got your demonic friend's lightsabre as well, so he won't be as dangerous if he comes after us."

"He's not a demon, he's a Chiss. They're a distant species on the outer rim."

"I'll have to take your word on that. To be honest, I've never really like aliens, although I've seen enough Zabrak like you to get used to the … horns. Do you sharpen them?"

"What sort of question is that? Of course I don't sharpen them!" Aron was very defensive about his horns. As a juvenile Zabrak from Iridonia his horns had only just sprouted and he was very proud of them. He acknowledged that it might be against the Jedi code and even vain to wax them every night but he did so want them to look impressive, however small they were. For the moment. He was sure they'd grow bigger.

"Huh, well I learn something new every day. Anyway, it's time for some shut eye now boy. Night night." The man in yellow bent down and twisted the drip again. Aron felt another surge of the drug through his system and knew no more.

Aboard the Winged Katarn, Mordred Veshnar worked furiously on the damaged hyperdrive, wincing with every excursion from the wounds on his left arm and side which stained his robes with blood. The shockwave from the explosion on the Cosmos splinter had hit the Winged Katarn incredibly hard, blowing out her stabilisers, shattering the glass in the cockpit and causing immense damage to the hyperdrive. Not only that but it had badly wounded Mordred and while it would have killed any normal man it had left the Jedi Knight comatose for several hours. When he awoke it became clear that something was horribly wrong – both his Padawan and his lightsabre were missing and once he'd rebooted the ships computer it confirmed his fears – less than an hour before, the ship had been boarded. Why the boarders didn't kill him while he lay unconscious he didn't know, and right now, he didn't care. As soon as he awoke he contacted Master Rand and explained the situation. Although initially furious at the news, Atton quickly became concerned for Veshnar's safety and kept questioning him on the extent of his injuries. Master Rand promised reinforcements within hours and ordered Mordred to return to Pikar immediately for healing. But Veshnar wasn't going to do that. For the first time in his life, he found himself disobeying a direct order from a superior Jedi. He would rescue his padawan and punish those responsible for the senseless destruction of the Cosmos Splinter even if it killed him. With an out-of-character snarl of rage he kicked the Hyperdrive as hard as he could… and it flared into life. Wincing once again, Mordred Veshnar stood up and limped back to the bridge, determined to follow the ship which had boarded the Winged Katarn, apparently named _The Wounded Lady._

Nar Shaddaa. The smuggler's moon. While the Cosmos Splinter was, in its own way a horrible place to live, it could not hope to compare with the original planet of sin. Nar Shaddaa was filthy, smog choked and in turns completely dilapidated and top of the range, the quality of building directly correlating with the worth of the inhabitants. It truly was the scummiest place in the galaxy and nowhere else could compare. The _Wounded Lady _landed on one of the nicer landing pads in Nar Shaddaa – they were few and far between. As the she touched down, five armed individuals approached the ship – two Aqualish thugs, a Trandoshan, a Gran and one thick set, balding Cathar male who was clearly the leader of the group. From the ship marched the man in yellow, dragging the gurney on which Aron lay behind him. The Cathar thug shook his head in disbelief as the man in yellow approached.

"Filcher Martin, as I live and breathe. I'd heard you were gunning for Vogga's bounty, I just didn't think you'd actually catch one." Filcher Martin, for the man in yellow was he, let out a noise of disgust.

"You think you're so much better than me Denni Lorek? All you do is what your Master Vogga tells you to do. At least I'm a free m…" The Cathar Denni grabbed Filcher by the throat in one large, clawed hand.

"You better watch that mouth of yours Filcher or I'll rip out your tongue. And don't flatter yourself, you're a walking joke. How'd you catch this one, did he trip over you when you were begging for mercy?" Denni and his goons cackled with laughter whilst Filcher struggled for air. Eventually he managed to squawk:

"Is Vogga not paying his bounties now? I doubt he'll be very popular if that's the case." Denni sighed and let Filcher drop to his feet, gasping for air.

"You'll get your money you little worm. Right then, one of the Jedi on the list…" he checked his datapad carefully, "a padawan Vima, I believe. Alright, that earns you 20,000 credits." Filcher looked up at the burly Cathar sharply.

"20,000? It's 40,000 isn't it?"

"No dull stone, it's 40,000 for a pair of Jedi. These guys usually travel in pairs. Wasn't he with another Jedi?" the Cathar enforcer said, gesturing to Aron. Filcher had to think about this.

"Err… yeah. Yeah he was. I killed him. The other one, I mean. A blue skinned, red eyed Jedi Knight right? Look, I've got his lightsabre too." Denni raised a solitary eyebrow and looked at the second lightsabre with obvious scepticism.

"You killed a fully-fledged Jedi Knight?"

"Y-yeah. Of course. How else could I have got his lightsabre? What, you don't believe me?"

"No." the Cathar said simply. Filcher shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, forget what you think, you owe me 40,000 credits and I…" Denni sucker punched Filcher in the belly, sneering as the bounty hunter doubled over in agony.

"No Filcher, I'll tell you what I think. I think you stole this from the Jedi somehow, and he's still alive somewhere getting really pissed off. Now, here's what you're going to do. You're going to take the twenty thousand I'm offering you now and be damn grateful for it. Then, when we've found this… Mordred Veshnar's body, along with signs that you whined him to death – the only way you could kill anyone – then you'll get the other 20. You get me Filcher?" Filcher was still prostrate on the ground but managed to look up at the Cathar, his eyes watering.

"Denni, you don't know what you're doing to me! I'm in with Cudren at the pazaak tables for twenty-two large! I was told to get it all or they'll kill me this time! I'll never get off Nar Shaddaa alive."

"You'll be lucky to get off this landing pad alive if you don't shut up!" Denni snarled. Then he looked up and to his surprise saw over a dozen Duros walking towards him from the opposite landing pad where a large shuttle had recently docked.

A tall Duros wearing grey and red combat fatigues walked towards them, perspiration dripping on his mottled grey skin. In his hands he carried a large Disruptor rifle, inlet with gold.

"Greetings gentlemen. I am Tezanti Zhug of the Zhug brothers. My associates and I are inestimably interested in that young Zabrak of yours. Kindly deliver him into our custody and we will not need to resort to… unpleasantness. Do we have an understanding?" Sadly, Denni Lorek didn't speak Durese, so he hadn't understood one word that Tezanti had just said.

"I don't know what you just said Duros but for your sake I hope it wasn't threatening. Lorgal, you speak Durese, right?" Denni said, asking one of his Aqualish cronies. The Aqualish thug nodded.

"Yeah boss."

"Well what did this idiot say?"

"He wants the Jedi, I think boss. It's kind of hard to tell coz he uses fancy words all the time. "

"He _wants _the Jedi? What for? Listen bulbous head, the rewards been claimed by this little prick. The Jedi belongs to Vogga now." He gestured to his crony to translate but Tezanti held up a hand.

"Please desist from your translations Aqualish, while your master may not speak Durese, I am perfectly able to understand basic. I would merely suggest to your magnanimous employer that five pasty ruffians is hardly likely to strike terror into the bosom of my vast clan. Perhaps Vogga should send more men to guard his bounty collections, otherwise unscrupulous individuals such as myself might seize the bounties as they arrive on the smuggler's moon and then sell them on to Vogga at a later date… and a higher price. Prepare for hostilities." The Aqualish translator looked panicked at this but not out of fear. He was struggling to understand this sophisticated Duros.

"Well? What did all that gibberish mean?" Denni said impatiently.

"Err… something about Vogga's bounty I think. He talks too fast and he uses words I don't know." Tezanti rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps this will be a little clearer." He said with a small smile and raised his disruptor rifle, firing at Denni Lorek twice, hitting him in the kneecap and then the stomach. The big Cathar enforcer collapsed, roaring in agony. Taking Tezanti's cue, the other Zhug brothers open fired on Denni's hapless thugs with a variety of blaster rifles and pistols. The translator Aqualish was killed instantly, a flurry of blaster bolts covering his torso, while the remaining thugs returned fire as best they could, sparking a furious fire fight on the landing pad. While this raged, Filcher crawled over to Denni and tried to grab the credits from his pocket. Denni rounded on the useless Bounty Hunter and started drawing one of his twin Ryyk blades from his back. Panicking, Filcher drew a small knife from his boot and stabbed the Cathar enforcer in the shoulder, causing him to once again roar with pain. Momentarily distracted by this injury, Denni was powerless to stop Filcher from snatching a whole wad of credits. Staying as low as possible, Filcher got to his feet and scrambled up the gang plank of his ship the Wounded Lady. Just as the fire fight was ending the rusty ship took off and vanished into the heavy thrum of evening traffic.

Tezanti Zhug viewed the landing pad with satisfaction. During the battle, the Gran bodyguard had managed to hit and kill one of his brothers and the big Trandoshan had sliced another Zhug's arm off with a war axe before succumbing to blaster fire. Of Lorek's men, only Denni himself remained alive. A small victory to be sure, but it was fourteen against five after all. Tezanti Zhug waltzed over to the prone figure of Denni Lorek, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the wounded Cathar's forehead.

"You think you're gonna get away with this? Huh? You big grey freak, when Vogga hears about this he's going to wipe you and your pathetic little brotherhood out. You get me? Dead! Your whole crew! DEAD!" Tezanti Zhug blinked at the Cathar's fury.

"Well, somebody is getting angry aren't they? Relax Mister Lorek, your race is finally run. And don't worry about Vogga finding out about this – there was no fire fight, and the Zhug brothers certainly didn't kill one of Vogga's enforcers." The Duros gestured to his brothers throwing the dead off the platform – on Nar Shaddaa their bodies would fall for hours. Tezanti cocked his disruptor and pressed it to Lorek's forehead.

"I'll see you in hell" the Cathar snarled.

"Keep a seat warm for me Denni Lorek. Although thinking about, I doubt cold seats are a problem." Laughing, Tezanti pulled the trigger.

With that done, Tezanti ordered several of his men to take both the dead and the wounded Zhug brothers onto their shuttle while he and several others walked over to the Filcher Martin's gurney. But when he saw it, Tezanti Zhug let out an inhuman howl – for it was empty and Aron Vima was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Visas Marr drifted through the cosmos in a daze, all life in the galaxy laid before her in all its indescribable detail. She saw many things, some of which she knew and others which were alien to her but through it all a growing sense of dread clawed about her mind and prevented her from enjoying these staggering sights any Jedi would give their lives to see. In front of the drifting Jedi Master a shadow emerged, dark and unknowable – yet somehow Visas did know of it. She knew it all too well. A voice whispered in her ear.

"_I'm always with you Visas. My love."_

And Visas was screaming, screaming so loudly her throat burned with agony, her lungs quivered with the exertion, yet still she screamed and screamed and screamed. Somehow she was no longer in the depths of space but wrapped in pale linens in a white room. And suddenly Mical was at her side and holding her hand, worry creasing his already creased face.

"Visas, listen to me! Calm down, you're safe, you're safe!" Visas collapsed into Mical's arms sobbing, her usual reticence banished by her ordeal. Master Chodo Habat entered the infirmary flanked by two medical aids to find the Jedi Grandmaster desperately trying to get some rational response from the hysterical Miraluku master in his arms. Chodo frowned and went to his patient.

An hour later, Chodo sat next to the tired looking Grand master in the waiting lounge of the infirmary. Mical looked up as Chodo sat.

"How's she doing?"

"Well enough. She's fallen into a natural sleep now and her ordeal appears to be over. I couldn't get anything out of her unfortunately. She appears to have fallen mute." Mical stared at his healer in surprise.

"Mute? A sign of damage from the force perhaps?

"Well, medically speaking there's nothing wrong with her so I'm assuming that her illness is inflicted by the force. If that's the case, there's still very little I can do Mical." The Jedi Grandmaster sighed and kneaded his forehead. A few hours before he'd felt the deaths of those on board the Cosmos Splinter, and shocking reports of its total destruction were now filtering through Hutt and Republic communication channels. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jedi Knight Actar Larn and her padawan had been found poisoned on Ryloth, bringing the death count from this bounty on Jedi to four. The two remaining Jedi who had taken part in the raids on the slavers of the Mirgoshir system were Mordred Veshnar and Aron Vima and according to Atton Rand their next destination… was the Cosmos Splinter. Mical hoped desperately that they were safe.

"Alright, thank you Chodo. I leave her to your care." The elderly Ithorian bowed to his fellow council member and left the room. Mical took out his communicator and contacted Master Ordo. Mira answered quickly, a rarity for her, and Mical asked for her status.

"I'm at the remains of the splinter now Mical. It's been almost completely destroyed but I don't believe our two Jedi were killed"

"Why's that?"

"I simply don't sense their passing. I plan to continue my pursuit as necessary."

"Good. Also, some good news at least, Visas woke up less than an hour ago." Mira breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's excellent Mical. Has she told you what caused her collapse?"

"No, she's asleep right now and Chodo claimed that she was mute when she first woke up." Mira frowned.

"Have you tried sensing her thoughts?"

"I will do soon. I don't want to cause her stress – she's already been through enough."

"Of course, you do what you think's best for her. Also, I still haven't found a single trace of Master Osti. I searched through data records of transports off Caston and his name never surfaced. I can't find his force signature anywhere either Mical – it's like he's dropped out of the galaxy entirely, I've never seen anything like it." Mical nodded resignedly and steepled his fingers in thought.

"It's been days Mira. I think it might be time to admit the inevitable." Mira wasn't happy.

"What? That he's dead? Mical, even if that's the case I should still be able to find his body. Nothing about his total disappearance makes sense – why would someone abduct him and take pains to conceal their attack? And who would be physically capable of capturing Master Osti anyway? He's one of the strongest Jedi in our order. Perhaps… perhaps the Si-"

"Don't be ridiculous! We watch for the return of the dark side every day! I want no more talk of this until you've found Veshnar and his Padawan. Am I clear?" Mira nodded.

"Good. Report again when you have something for me." Mira shut off her communicator without another word. Mical sighed and leaned back in his chair, feeling older than he had felt in a long time.

The _Wounded Lady _left the Nal Hutta system in a hurry, ignoring checkpoints and causing several collisions in its wake. Filcher Martin looked somewhat desperate at the controls, the only thought in his head being to get as far away from the Smuggler's Moon as possible. Cudren, a Selkath criminal, was infamous for being something of a freelance torturer for the Hutts as well as running several Pazaak dens on Nar Shaddaa – and Filcher Martin owed him 22,000 credits. If Cudren or another of his goons caught him, he'd beg for death before they were finished with him. It was for this reason that Filcher Martin was flying his ship so fast and was so desperate to hit hyperspace.

"I'll find some quiet little garden world somewhere" he said to himself, "Somewhere in the outer rim maybe, or in the colonies. Just as far from Hutt space as possible." But as Filcher was making these plans, the _Winged Katarn _dropped out of hyperspace alongside the _Wounded Lady _and fired a barrage of laser bolts onto its broadside, sending the ship careening out of control. Inside, Filcher Martin grappled desperately with his ship's controls, trying in vain to right his flailing vessel but to no avail. The _Wounded Lady _lurched wildly again then slammed into the side of an atmospheric monitoring satellite, punching right through it then coming to an abrupt stop as the engine died and the emergency thrusters kicked in. Filcher sat paralysed in the Captain's chair, sheer terror gripping him as he noted the ship ID of the vessel that attacked him. _The Winged Katarn._ The Jedi's ship.

"Sith's blood" Filcher said in despair.

Five minutes later, Filcher found himself lifted bodily by the neck confronted by the tall blue Jedi Knight who had boarded his ship, removing his safety protocols with a sweep of his hand.

"Please don't kill me!" Filcher begged, tears streaming down his face.

"Where is my padawan?!" roared Mordred with such fury Filcher almost wet himself.

"N-n-n Nar Shaddaa" Filcher said desperately, "he escaped and went into the streets below docking platform 8801-B79A, I swear on my mother's life he was alive!" Mordred scowled and placed his finger tips of the pathetic bounty hunters forehead. Swiping away what little mental defence Filcher Martin possessed, Mordred quickly ascertained that his victim was telling the truth. The Chiss Jedi composed himself and released Filcher, who collapsed into a foetal position, crying.

"Filcher Martin, you are hereby under arrest for the assault of two Jedi Knights on official business. You will remain here in your ship until the proper authorities take you into custody." Mordred said, formality – and therefore normality – returning to his voice. Filcher looked up at this declaration with panic.

"Stay- stay here?! I can't stay here, Cudren will kill me! Take me with you; I need protection! Lock me up wherever you like but don't let fishy Selkath come near me!" he pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Mordred merely handcuffed the bounty hunter to his own Captains chair, went to the engine room, ripped out the primary power coupling – making flight impossible – and stormed back onto to the _Winged Katarn_ which departed with the minimum fuss, leaving Filcher alone on the _Dainty Lady _to sob and panic.

Aron Vima ran with all the strength he had. He ducked and dived along narrow, grimy streets and on top of garish florescent advertisements, sweat pouring down his forehead as he sprinted. He couldn't tell if he was being pursued but the young Padawan was taking no chances. When he finally came to a stop he was exhausted and desperate, but also free. Nar Shaddaa may well be the crime capital of the galaxy, but there's nowhere better to get lost in, and Aron was truly lost. He slumped in an alley made of grey steel and felt his eyelids droop, still tired after such a heavy dose of sedative from Filcher Martin. He briefly searched his surroundings with the force but found the alley curiously devoid of life. Hoping he was safe, Aron slowly closed his eyes.

And was running again. He was tall and powerful; strong in the force and wore the robes of a Jedi Master, a yellow lightsabre in his hand. His boots pounded the metal floor with purpose and vigour, the force guiding his every step. He rounded a corner and came out into blinding sunshine – the sun had risen whilst he was running through the tunnels. His quarry was on his knees, clutching his side and gasping in pain, black robes stained with blood. The fallen man turned to look at Aron with fury in his eyes, his crimson skin shining bright in the sun.

"It's over Anarchus! Give in now!" Aron roared, his voice far deeper than Aron could remember it being. Aron's enemy sneered even as he coughed up his own blood.

"It's over? You think this is over? You think besting me in a childish brawl will save you?" The Sith slowly stood up and faced Aron, not a trace of fear in his mad eyes. "You have no understanding at all _BOY! _Even now our doom approaches, even now the very foundations of the galaxy quake at the approach!" Aron scowled and pointed his lightsabre at Anarchus as a simple threat.

"Know this _Sith_" Aron spat, "the Jedi defeated your Master once, we shall do so again I swear it!" At this, Anarchus threw back his head and howled with laughter.

"You **delayed**, nothing more! You placed a plaster on an open wound and hoped it would heal, little realising it was already infected! My Master is just another symptom boy, a symptom! You want to save the galaxy? You want to know what you seek to fight? Look upon it… and despair!" And with that, Anarchus threw his arms in the air and Aron could see everything. _Everything. _He saw the galaxy, he saw beyond it. He saw the Republic. He even saw the Empire. But beyond that… beyond that, in unending dark space where no being has ever trodden, where all should be blackness and silence… Aron saw light. And what terrible light! Light to blind a man, drive him mad, light to tear the soul from all who gaze upon it. It defied all description, rejected all attempts to understand it; it was simply the end. The end of all things.

Aron woke screaming, the vivid nature of his vision enough to shake his already tired frame to the core. Sweat poured off his body in rivets as he tried to get a hold on his panic and he clutched his head as if to force out the terrible things he had seen. Aron did not really understand his vision – he did not know what the light was, did not know who the bleeding man could be and did not understand his glimpses at this terrible light, but Aron knew one thing; the Jedi Council need to know everything he had seen… because the Sith were back.


End file.
